


Life Has Torn You Apart

by IntrepidEscapist



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Nonbinary Chrollo, Other, hxhbb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrepidEscapist/pseuds/IntrepidEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in our childhood are what shape our adult life.  Some moments are coarser than others. Chrollo, Illumi, and Hisoka’s defining moments were less than pleasant to say the least.  (Adultrio childhood origins fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the hxh Big Bang I hope you enjoy! I was paired with the artist kurapilka(.tumblr.com). I had a great time writing this and maybe I'll sign up again for the next hxhbb.

If you were to ask Hisoka Morou what he was like as a child he would say that he sprung from the void as is, thank you very much. He hated babies. How rude of you to think that he could ever be something so gross and loud and helpless. If you were to ask again he would say he appeared from a magic trick gone wrong, or right in his opinion. Asking a third time would get a shrug of the shoulders and an offer to show you a card trick.

(It would be wise to decline seeing the card trick.)

Hisoka actually couldn’t remember the fine details of his childhood, but by choice. There was no room for memories of when he was weak and pitiful. They put a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t like to remember when he was at the mercy of others rather than the other way around. So, when he was older, he made a habit of forgetting the things he didn’t like.

Sixteen years ago, after Hisoka managed to drag himself out of Meteor City on his hands and knees, he was living in the backstreets of Bubei City. He was a little miffed that he simply crawled from the slums of one city to another, but Meteor City was one giant dumpster whereas Bubei City only had dumpsters in the alleyways.

He missed Meteor City a little bit. Well, he missed Chrollo, not the city. They used to play and go hunting for food together. One day though, Chrollo was different. They pulsed with energy, a power that Hisoka was familiar with, though not through instruction, and Hisoka knew their relationship would change.

When he asked Chrollo what had happened they smiled at him, cheeks dimpling in the way Hisoka always thought was cute.

“I’m learning,” they said, cryptically.

It felt like an invisible rift had formed between them with those words. The power that Hisoka was able to control naturally, that he hoped would stick the two of them together, was pushing them apart. It scared him.

Hisoka wordlessly offered Chrollo a piece of bungee gum in an attempt to keep them together. They sat together blowing bubbles, the sugary gum almost grainy against their teeth. After a minute Chrollo pulled the bright pink gum out of their mouth and tossed it down to the ground.

“It’s out of flavor,” they explained.

Hisoka’s gum was still sweet in his mouth, and he felt like Chrollo had thrown him away with the gum.

Something about Chrollo had changed. They carried a knife with them. They wouldn’t tell Hisoka where they got it. Their eyes that were once a bright vivid gray became hard and melancholy, although their smile stayed the same. Sometime after that, Chrollo seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, and Hisoka was alone again. He thought he would’ve been used to it by now but it still hurt.

So he left.

Rather than continue to be left alone and unwanted, he decided to leave everyone else behind. He liked to imagine that Chrollo came back to look for him and was hurt and upset when they didn’t find him. He hoped that he left a lasting imprint on Chrollo’s mind. That he would be remembered. That somebody missed him.

No one really remembered the scared, rail thin, street child. He was one of millions, honestly.

Bubei City was surrounded by a shell of skyscrapers that housed wealthy, self-involved businessmen, but the bosom of the city held brothels, casinos, and more debauchery than most people could handle. A shell of gold surrounding a massive red light district.

Hisoka had passed a few different towns and cities on the way out of Meteor City, and despite being a starving mess he was still not wholly satisfied with Bubei. Unfortunately, he was in desperate need of water so Bubei was the last stop. Hisoka spent a few hours in some fast food restaurant’s bathroom so he could drink water from the dingy sink. He got some dirty looks from the patrons who came in and out until he was finally kicked out.

At least in Meteor City they’d let you be, he thought.

So he wandered the busy streets alone. The deeper into the heart of the city Hisoka went, the brighter the lights, the denser the smoke, and the more easily he was shoved aside. Near the outer rim of the city Hisoka couldn’t walk two feet without getting sneers and derisive looks, but here he wasn’t quite ignored. More like he blended into the scenery. He wasn’t anything more than a smudge on a graffitied wall. Hisoka wasn’t sure what he preferred.

What was better? All eyes on you, or none at all?

Hisoka’s new home was an old cardboard box strategically placed next to the overhang of a dumpster to keep out the rain. It was in an alley between a casino and a brothel called Hole in The Wall. At night Hisoka was treated to the sight of drunken patrons vomiting on the streets or sex workers smoking on the corner. At the very least someone had noticed he was living there so he didn’t have to see anything risqué.

It was lonesome. The only thing staving off Hisoka’s hunger was bungee gum. Even when it ran out of flavor he could chew it to stave off hunger pains. It still felt like there was a deep sinking pit in the bottom of his stomach.

He sat on the hard slightly damp inside of his cardboard box, the conflicting basslines reverberating from the establishments on either side of the alley. Despite it being very early in the morning this part of the city was alight with neon. His clothes were loose against his wiry frame and he stared at the glowing pink substance between his fingers. It stretched as he pulled his fingers apart and smelled slightly sweet. A bit like his gum.

His stomach growled and he winced. Hisoka unwrapped his last piece of gum and popped it into his mouth, the sweetness spreading over his tongue instantaneously. Now he was out of food. He needed to figure out a way to get more. Stealing wasn’t working. He wasn’t strong enough. The vendors kept catching up to him and beating him up. Someone threatened to call the cops on him, another threatened to kill him if he ever set foot in the shop again. He was too scared to go back and he hadn’t eaten in three days.

There had to be another way to survive.

***

The taste of blood in his mouth was almost delicious because it had been that long since Hisoka had eaten.

Hisoka’s vision faded in and out as he lay on the floor of the ring, the cheers from the crowd around him almost loud enough to push him into unconsciousness. Despite the aching pain in his face Hisoka tried to pick himself off the ground. His vision doubled and he staggered in place while the ref shouted “Seven!” The girl in front of him immediately put her fists up. Sweat stung the scrapes in Hisoka’s skin and he stumbled in place.

He had to win.

Almost drunkenly Hisoka lunged towards the girl, aiming a punch at her face. In one quick motion the girl sidestepped, elbowed Hisoka in the back and kneed him in the gut at the same time. Hisoka was on the ground before he could register he missed. The crowd went wild. Hisoka struggled not to pass out.

Honestly given that he had grown up in such an abysmal area he would’ve thought he’d have a better shot at cockfighting.

The girl held her arms up in the air as the crowd whooped and cheered her on.

Apparently not.

When it became clear that Hisoka wasn’t going to get up by himself the referee grabbed him by the arms and not so gently tossed him out of the ring. Lights erupted behind his eyelids when he hit the ground. Judging by the sounds coming from the ring he was already forgotten. All attention was on the new kids fighting in the ring. Once again he was ignored in favor of someone else.

“Hey.”

Hisoka blearily opened his eyes, vision still dancing left and right. The girl who’d knocked his lights out was standing over him, a hand extended as an offer of help, of peace. He didn’t want to take her hand. He didn’t want her pity, but he couldn’t muster the strength to get up by himself. The girl made the decision for him and grabbed his hands, hoisting him up onto his feet with one pull. She was strong.

He envied her strength.

Although he was on his feet Hisoka wobbled precariously. His vision was hazy at best and his whole body ached. The girl’s voice sounded far away and he couldn’t make out what she said. He felt his arm get draped over what was likely the girl’s shoulder and he was led away. The throbbing in his head made it hard to keep his eyes open. He decided to let them close.

When he deigned to open his eyes again he was in an alley. Not his alley, a different one. He couldn’t hear the conflicting basslines from the brothel and the casino.

The girl who kicked his ass sat on top of a dumpster, flicking through the prize money he’d been gunning for. It wasn’t much, only forty jenny, but forty was a lot when you had nothing. Even when Hisoka stood up she paid him no mind, only licking a finger and recounting the bills in her hands. He was a bit shaken at the sight of her. She may not have been radiating power but she easily beat him down so that was enough reason for him to be scared.

Then again he was a bit scared of almost everything.

A headache knocked at the back of his skull and his muscles ached. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle another fight. He expected the girl to do something. Maybe threaten him not to try and steal the money from her, but she ignored him. She was covered in bruises and bumps from prior fights, her dark brown skin stained with purple and red. Her hair was thick, puffy, and wiry around her ears. Pink from the shoulders up with a few inches of black coming from the roots.

“Hello,” Hisoka said.

The girl swiveled her brown eyes around to look at Hisoka for a moment, but he clearly didn’t interest her enough to earn any sort of response. She returned to counting her money.

If Hisoka was a more aggressive person he’d try talking to her again. Instead he shuffled out of the alley, a little put out that he was being ignored. Again. The girl didn’t call out for him or follow him out like he hoped she would.

When he finally got back to his cardboard box he rolled over and faced the back of it, closing the flaps shut with his sticky pink aura. Hopefully he could sleep through the hunger tonight.

***

Honestly he was too weak to be fighting in the ring, but he really needed the money. Worst case scenario he would die. Either way he wouldn’t be hungry.

By some stroke of luck Hisoka’s opponent this time was younger than him, or maybe they were just smaller. Whatever the case was he had a size advantage and he used it to press his body over the other kid and keep them flat on the ground until the ref shouted “Ten!”

A feeling of elation bubbled up in Hisoka’s chest when the crowd of people in the dingy, underground fighting ring cheered. Adults sat on bleacher like benches all around the slightly raised circular platform where the kids fought, hollering and swearing. Some grumbled and handed over crumpled wads of jenny to much happier recipients. Hisoka got up and waved to the crowd but his smile faded when he realized they weren’t cheering for him. They were cheering for the money they had made betting on him.

Hisoka was quickly lead out of the ring and twenty jenny was pressed into his hand by one of the bookies that hung around the arena. It was a quick exchange. No time would be wasted between the fights. Even if the authorities did give a shit about adults gleefully watching starving street children beat each other up for a profit, it was standard protocol to get things done ASAP.

The blue paper note was dingy and dirty, but Hisoka clenched it tight in his hand. That was food. If he had enough left over he could buy his favorite gum.

“You got stiffed, y’know.”

Hisoka looked over his shoulder to see the pink haired girl standing behind him. Her left eye was puffy and bruised and she blew a pink gum bubble. She was taller than him by a few inches he noticed.

“What?”

“That fight was thirty jenny easy. That bookie’s a cheat,” she said.

The girl watched as Hisoka looked around, head turning back and forth as he looked for the bookie in the hazy orange light of the arena. Hisoka looked back at the girl with questioning gold eyes. She rolled hers.

“I’m not gonna help you. I can barely feed myself,” she said.

Hisoka flinched at the harshness of her words. He felt like he was going to cry. If there was a chance tears would fall he wasn’t going to open his mouth. The girl chewed on her gum and looked him up and down. She was pretty, Hisoka thought in the back of his mind. Pink was his favorite color.

When it became clear Hisoka wasn’t going to say anything the girl rolled her eyes and walked past him. Probably to sign up for another fight with how strong she was. Hisoka wanted that strength, that kind of confidence she seemed to naturally exude. He watched her as she walked away to the signup sheet. Despite probably being around his age people got out of her way as she moved. 

Envy burned deep in Hisoka’s chest alongside something else. 

Admiration.

He left before the girl finished signing up for her next fight, stepping out into the busy streets of Bubei. It was late but people still walked about, mostly tricks or gangsters. Hisoka turned the corner and crossed the street, heading back to his alley. First thing in the morning, when the corner store was open, he’d buy himself the first meal he’d had in a week. He was too proud to go picking through the trash for food, ironically. It was different when you weren’t in a city made of garbage. 

Hisoka was sick of garbage.

***

It was the very next day that Hisoka fell in love.

If he remembered the event now, he’d tell you it was certainly real even if he was only twelve. Of course whether or not he was lying would be up in the air. To you or himself would be a mystery.

He bought two jars of peanut butter, a bottle of water, two loaves of bread, and a pack of bungee gum at the corner store with a whopping three cents to spare. When he ran out, plastic bag crinkling in the crook of his elbow, he bumped into someone in his haste to get back to his cardboard box. His boney butt hit the ground. Dirty water soaked through the bottom of his pants. He looked up to see someone older than him by at least a decade. Long, silky black hair flowed down their back and covered their left eye. Their visible eye was a cold hard blue, and Hisoka wasn’t quite sure what gender they were.

The person looked down at Hisoka, expression unreadable. Two people, a man and a woman, that Hisoka hadn’t noticed came up from behind the black haired person and scowled at Hisoka.

“Watch where you’re going, brat!” the woman spit.

“Want me to get rid of this thing, Bazil?” the man asked.

Bazil, Hisoka thought. He was in love with Bazil. That had to be what he was feeling what with the way his heart thudded against his ribs and his breath came in short.

Bazil regarded him . They had a muscled, hourglass figure wrapped in a black bodysuit. Hisoka felt his blood freeze over as they locked eyes.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re both much too trigger happy,” Bazil said.

The man and the woman stammered out apologies to Bazil, who was clearly their boss, and Bazil walked around Hisoka without a second glance. Hisoka scrambled to his feet and watched, wide-eyed, as Bazil walked away, hair swishing behind them. 

He almost forgot his food when he got out of his trance.

While he sat in his cardboard box pantless (he laid them on top of his box so they could dry in the sun) and regret not buying jam for his peanut butter sandwich, he thought of Bazil and their cold hard eyes. They were one of the most beautiful people Hisoka had ever seen, and with just a few words they had two different people begging for forgiveness. Beauty and power together. Hisoka shuddered at the thought.

The girl from the arena crossed his mind. He never got her name. She didn’t seem like she’d give it out without prompting. Whereas Bazil was pale she was dark. Where Bazil had dark, shiny hair, hers was tightly coiled and artificially pink. Both of them were beautiful. Hisoka wanted that. The beauty and the power. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it for himself or just to look at.

He reached for his water bottle and downed a third of it to unstick the peanut butter from his mouth.

Both, maybe. He never had anything for his own. It would be good to be selfish now. Being opportunistic was something that was encouraged back in Meteor City. It was a shame he was so timid though. He wished he could be someone like Bazil, who turned heads and had people waiting on them. He wished he could be like the arena girl, who was powerful and parted crowds when she walked. He hated them a little bit for having what he lacked but, he thought, love and hate were two sides of the same coin. The hate didn’t take away the fact that the more he thought about Bazil and the arena girl, the more he ached for them.

Then again, he wasn’t sure if he was in love with the arena girl. Maybe he just admired her. He’d at least have to get her name. That would be ridiculous. Loving someone who didn’t have a name.

Briefly he thought back to Chrollo, but he pushed it out of his mind.

The arena girl didn’t seem to like him very much. She did help him up once and tell him that he was cheated, but she didn’t do more than that. Maybe she didn’t think he was worth the trouble. 

Well that certainly didn’t make him feel good about himself.

If he stayed the way he was neither Bazil nor the arena girl would remember him. There wasn’t anything notable about him the way he was now. Hisoka’s eyes burned a little bit and he wiped them preemptively. He sniffled a little bit and drew his knees up to his chest. He was sick of being left alone. If he wasn’t memorable now he’d just have become someone that was impossible to forget.

How the hell was he going to do that?

The reverberating bass bouncing his cardboard box up and down gave him an idea. There were some great actors on either side of him.

He’d get to practicing once his pants dried.

***

There was a choice to be made between going to the cockfighting arena to make money or take acting lessons from the sex workers and casino personnel. The part of Bubei he was in was largely active at night, so he’d have to pick one. Hisoka figured since he still had some food leftover it would be a good investment to start on his acting. Maybe he’d be able to make a scene when he applied what he learned at the arena.

Hisoka sat by the edge of the alley so he could get a good look at the people coming and going from Hole in The Wall. The men, women, and those that weren’t either who were in charge of standing outside and drawing in customers were all made-up and flashy. High heels, bright colorful clothes, smooth skin, and neon makeup. They walked up and down the storefront with carefully practiced steps. Despite moving slowly they crossed a lot of ground in only a few steps, their hips swinging back and forth almost hypnotically.

If someone lingered in front of the brothel for longer than half a second someone would be on them quickly, no matter how ugly the patron was Hisoka noted. With lidded eyes and sultry smiles they ensnared their targets without even having to touch them. The tricks seemed almost frozen in place while they were talked to.

“You look tired,” a slender man with long sharp nails said.

“I-I guess,” the trick stammered. “I just got out of work and—”

The man curled his red painted lips in a smile and that seemed to suck all the air out of the trick’s lungs. Hisoka watched in awe as the man was able of disarming a stranger in a matter of seconds with a few words.

“You should come in and rest a little,” the slender man said.

One manicured hand was placed on the trick’s shoulder and just like that, he had him. The trick nodded quickly, “Yes, yes! I’ll rest for a bit!” and they went inside. The exchange took less than a minute. Hisoka ran over what he just saw in his mind’s eye. The way the slender man walked, the way he looked at the trick, the makeup and clothes that he wore. All perfectly put together to ensnare prey before they even knew what was happening.

In a matter of seconds it happened again, this time a woman with long red hair and a large bouncy chest Hisoka was also entranced by. She wasn’t as fast as the man had been but her strategy was different. She immediately pressed herself up against her target and while they were stunned, fed words into their mouth. The trick looked a little confused as they were led into the brothel, but the woman had an iron grip on them.

Over and over again Hisoka watched the brothel workers flash colorful smiles and sultry looks. He studied their makeup, their clothes, their walks, the way they spoke with both words and body language. It was kind of incredible how they were almost always successful. He practiced strutting up and down the alley he was living in. One foot in front of the other, head held high up, eyes lidded, with smile that could almost be a smirk.

He practiced making faces in an old compact mirror that one of the brothel workers had tossed into a dumpster. There was a serious debate on whether or not he should strut with one or both hands on his hips. He settled on one when he realized that it would be better if he could emote with one hand, but still cock his hip and pose. Two birds one stone really.

No one paid much mind to the scrawny twelve-year old strutting up and down, back and forth in the alley. That didn’t make Hisoka happy. Embarrassment be damned, he wanted to be noticed! 

He looked at some of the brothel workers again in their colorful clothes and makeup, then down at his tattered brown shorts and shirt. Ah.

That could be fixed later.

Still, there was something not quite right with his presentation. He was more or less satisfied with the walk and the look. The way he strut down the alley and then popped his hip out with a smirk was looking good. A little more practice would perfect it. Even though the sex workers were largely successful and their appearances were loud and colorful, they were still discreet. Technically soliciting customers on the street was illegal, (not that the cops in the area gave a damn. Half of them were the customers) so there was a certain amount of effort put into being able to disappear. The workers were quite adept at becoming completely unnoticeable when there was a potential threat. Hisoka didn’t want that. He wanted to turn heads. Sure being able to blend in with everything was useful but that wasn’t the goal he was reaching for right now.

Hisoka strut down the alleyway and onto the sidewalk. People walked into the casino sober and stumbled out drunk. Whether they were happy or irate depended on how much they won or lost. There was a lot of entertainment provided inside besides the slots. Entertainment that captured the attention of the customers so well they kept coming back for more.

He made sure to walk in time to the bassline coming from the brothel on the way to the casino. Carefully, quickly, he slipped into the building under the arm of the doorman as some couple walked in.

Sensory overload.

The casino was a nonstop cacophony of slot machines, music, and gamblers cheering when they lost or won. There were too many people and the air was heavy with the stink of booze and cigarette smoke. Hisoka immediately wanted to leave but he’d gotten this far. Suck it up. It was pain enough taking the time to sneak past the doorman. Might as well do what he came here for.

It was ostentatiously cheap inside. Glittering chandeliers, deep red carpet, people in cheap recreations of formal wear. It was so busy no one noticed him which was okay for now. He didn’t want to get kicked out. Hisoka looked for something to emulate but everything was so loud and ornery it was like everything in the building was trying to compete to be the center of attention, so nothing really was.

Hisoka decided to sneak away to the back end of the casino where people were drinking by the bar and playing poker. It seemed quieter. He made sure to steal some shrimp off a plate a busboy was carrying first. His sticky pink aura made it easy to swipe things from a distance. Back there everyone was too engrossed in themselves or their gambling to pay him any mind. Hisoka was a bit disappointed. What was capturing people’s attention? He didn’t see anything that was remotely eyecatching.

On a stage near the back of the place someone in a suit with long tails and a top hat walked up. Once the spotlight shone down on him all eyes moved over to his bright purple suit. Hisoka looked around from where he’d been sitting the end of the bar. Even the poker players turned to look at the person on the stage in the midst of their game.

“Honored guests!” the magician said. “I am the Great Maximillion! I will be your entertainment this evening.”

Hisoka was curious only because this person captured the attention of everyone in the casino almost instantly. They were glamorous, less so than the brothel workers, but their presence was what really drew him in. The magician pulled rabbits out of their silk top hat, pulled dozens of handkerchiefs out of their closed palm. Hisoka watched with wide eyes and an open mouth. 

He noticed as he watched the magician do a card trick with the help of a woman from the audience that almost every single person in the casino was watching. Even some of the busboys stood in place to glance at the magic show. The woman gasped when the magician tore a random card into pieces only to crush them together in their palm and then reveal the card she’d picked earlier, whole in their hand. The audience clapped and cheered. Hisoka found himself clapping along with them.

That’s what he wanted.

The magician bowed with a flourish and received a standing ovation. Hisoka studied every move they had made during the show with such intensity that the magician felt a chill run down their spine when they descended the stage steps. 

***

Unlike the last few times Hisoka stepped into the arena he caused a slight stirring in the crowd. The area didn’t go completely silent but he could hear the crowd buzzing with confusion, curiosity, and interest as he slowly walked into the ring one foot in front of the other. He’d painted the star and teardrop from the harlequin face on the bungee gum wrapper on his left and right cheek respectively. He couldn’t afford a makeup palette like the sex workers could, but he was able to wrangle some cheap colors off of them by playing the cute kid role.

Hisoka’s opponent was a boy a little bigger than him, though most kids were bigger than him. With a smile Hisoka rested his left hand on his hip and twiddled his fingers in a wave to the boy in front of him. The blond boy flushed and looked behind him quickly as if Hisoka was waving at someone else.

“Yes you,” Hisoka said with a wink.

His opponent was nervous. Hisoka could tell because he was honestly just as nervous being in front of a crowd like this. He had to keep his mask on though. He would be someone to remember.

The ref announced the start of the fight and Hisoka immediately went for the boy’s ankles. He’d noticed while watching the sex workers walk that the feet were quite vulnerable. Tripping in heels was no laughing matter. Hisoka tumbled and wrapped his fingers around the boy’s ankles and yanked forward. The boy went down immediately and smacked his head against the arena floor. Strangely enough, instead of pity Hisoka felt strangely good seeing the boy lying on the floor by his own hand.

The boy didn’t get back up when the referee shouted “Ten!”

Instead of jumping and whooping Hisoka maintained his mask of cool confidence and brushed his dirty bangs off his face as the crowd cheered. Some people pointed at him and spoke quickly and he drank it up. This was fantastic. The thrill of overpowering someone, being the center of attention. He could get drunk off it.

Hisoka sauntered off the stage and held his hand out expectantly when he reached the bookie. The man seemed unsettled by him and handed him a wad of bills before rushing off. A quick glance let Hisoka know that he’d accidentally been given a little too much money. He smiled to himself.

“What happened to you?”

He turned to see the pink haired girl behind him. He noticed she only had one large hoop earring on and he wondered if it was for aesthetic until he noticed the torn lobe of her left ear. It looked like it’d been healed for a bit. He liked that she still took the risk of wearing the jewelry even though there was a good chance it could get ripped out again.

“What do you mean?” Hisoka asked. Playing coy would be a good idea, he thought. It would keep her interest. It worked well enough on tricks.

The girl looked him up and down with her pretty brown eyes.

“You look different,” she said, mostly to herself. “Not a crybaby anymore, I guess.”

Hisoka couldn’t help but pout and the girl snorted.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Hisoka,” he said with as much self-importance as he could manage to fake.

“Never heard of it,” the girl said.

“Remember it,” Hisoka flicked his bangs out of his eyes.

The girl hummed and he was anxious to see what she would do next. He didn’t want to be ignored again.

“Mar,” she said.

Mar. It was like when Hisoka heard the name Bazil. He put both hands on his hips to discreetly wipe the sweat off his palms.

“Would you like to get dinner with me?” he asked her before he could fully register what he was saying.

Mar snorted.

“You can afford dinner?”

Hisoka held up the prize money. Mar looked at the jenny in his hand then back into Hisoka’s eyes. Her stare was piercing, like a needle.

“If you’re buying,” she said.

Hisoka grinned and happily followed Mar out of the arena.

His facade was working.

***

It was very important to keep a straight face even while his scalp was burning. It was scary when it seemed like you were impervious to pain. Hisoka wanted to be a force to be reckoned with. A little bit of bleach shouldn’t make him want to cry.

“Is-is it supposed to burn like this?” Hisoka asked with a trembling smile.

Mar looked down at him from her spot on top of the dumpster she lived in. She was reading a tattered magazine she plucked out of a trashcan on the way back from the store. Hisoka wrinkled his nose at her but she paid him no mind. She really didn’t care about his opinion. He loved that.

“You might be allergic to bleach. Ride it out. Don't be a crybaby,” she said and went back to reading.

Mar calling him a “crybaby” made him seethe with a strange combination of anger, embarrassment, and something else. For some reason he had the urge to punch her in the face. The thought was driven out of his mind by the stinging of bleach on his skin.

“Five more minutes,” Mar said.

Hisoka made a hum of reply because he was sure his voice would crack if he spoke. He focused his aura between his fingers, stretching it out between his thumb and index finger to distract himself from the pain. He could make words with his aura now. He wasn’t sure if he should use Mr or Mrs. Bazil Morou, but both looked good to him. Mrs. Mar Morou had a nice ring to it too.

When Mar finally hopped off the dumpster Hisoka tried not to cry from relief. She took a big liter sized water bottle and poured it over his head. Goosebumps rose on his arms and his shirt was soaked but the burning faded away. He made it through the ordeal. Stringy blond hair hung in his eyes. Mar warned him not to move as she massaged the pink dye into his hair.

“This shouldn’t take long,” she said.

Mar hopped back up on her dumpster. Hisoka reached into the plastic bag he brought from the corner store and pulled out a deck of cards. He shuffled them carefully then fanned them out in front of his face, the suits facing Mar.

“Pick a card,” he said.

Mar glanced down at him.

“Why?”

She didn’t look impressed. Hisoka would have to change that.

“I’ll show you a trick.”

Mar hummed and fiddled with her hoop earring. She pointed down at the cards.

“That one.”

“Which one?”

“Second to last on the right.”

“My right or your right?”

“My right.”

Hisoka pulled that card up and, without looking at it, put it on top of the deck and began to shuffle it again. When he was satisfied he cut the deck and laid the two halves of the deck next to each other.

“Pick one,” Hisoka said.

Mar pointed to the one on the left. Hisoka put that half on top of the other and shuffled them again. He picked one card out from the middle of the deck and held it up facing Mar.

“Is this your card?”

Mar furrowed her brows and leaned forward.

“How’d you do that?” she asked.

Hisoka twirled the card around on one finger. The queen of hearts. He flipped it between his fingers and it vanished. Mar recoiled a little, but leaned back in quickly, eyes burning with curiosity.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Hisoka said. He’d been practicing that line.

Mar slid off the dumpster again but this time sat in front of Hisoka. He looked over her muscled brown arms and the part of her taut stomach that was uncovered by the worn sports bra she wore. She didn’t have much cleavage like the brothel workers, but she was only around Hisoka’s age. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when Mar grabbed the hand that had been holding the card. Her fingers were cold. She flipped it over in her hands and held it up over her head, looking for the lost card.

Hisoka pulled it out from behind her ear.

The wide eyed look she gave him was priceless.

“Again,” she said.

Hisoka felt his ears turn bright red and his heart beat faster as he shuffled the cards again. All of her attention was on him. Mar made him do the trick over and over, searching his hands to see if he was hiding any cards. He’d been practicing with the cards for a week straight. She wouldn’t figure out what sleight of hand he’d used.

Hisoka left Mar’s dumpster with bright pink hair and a skip in his step.

***

Bazil, it turned out, was the leader of a gang.

Hisoka thought about their long black hair and their muscled body for weeks until he saw them again. He’d been making some attempts at pickpocketing when he saw that curtain of inky black hair swishing back and forth. He tailed them, making sure to stay at least ten feet away. Admire them from afar and also see what they were up to. Hisoka hoped that he would be able to figure out where they lived.

They were out on business it seemed. 

They seemed to be walking around aimlessly for over an hour until they turned onto a street that led into the skyscrapers around the city. The streets were cleaner, and the people walking around were well dressed. Bazil didn’t offer anyone a single glance but attracted plenty of looks. Mostly fearful. People hurried to get out of their way, clutching their bags and sometimes even crossing the street. Hisoka was awestruck.

Bazil walked into a hotel and Hisoka was extremely careful to make sure he wasn’t caught. It was the most extravagant building he’d ever set foot in. Almost everything was white, the furniture, the walls, the carpet. Hisoka didn’t know how they could possibly keep everything in there clean. He didn’t have time to look around because Bazil had started walking up the emergency stairs. Hisoka hid behind a pillar and counted to five before following him.

The stairs were gray metal and Bazil’s heavy steps echoed, the sound covering up Hisoka’s movements. Hisoka didn’t know why they were walking up the stairs when there were elevators, but he didn’t mind the sight of their thick muscular thighs flexing under tight black spandex as they climbed.

Bazil left the stairwell on the twentieth floor. Hisoka was a little out of breath but followed regardless. Bazil walked down the hotel hallway and Hisoka peeked out from around a corner to see what room they went in. They pulled a plastic card out of some pocket that was apparently in their body suit and slid it into the doorknob. They opened the door and just before it closed Hisoka shot a string of his pink aura over the latch to keep it from locking. Hisoka was considering the name Bungee Gum for his aura. They were similar and it was his favorite gum.

When Hisoka slipped into the hotel room he saw Bazil slit a man’s throat. 

The man’s white bathrobe was splattered with blood and he fell to his knees, gurgling, hands reaching up to the gash in his neck. Bazil looked down at him, knife in hand.

“I told you not to to cheat us,” Bazil said in that smooth, melodious voice.

Hisoka felt hot. His heart began beating hard and fast and his mouth dried out. Bazil wiped the blade of their knife on the robe of their victim as he twitched on the ground. Bazil squatted down next to them. They were careful to keep their silky hair over their shoulders and out of the mess.

With the tip of the knife Bazil carved something into the man’s forehead. Wet gasps came from the man’s mouth as he writhed in pain but he was much too weak from blood loss to do anything about it. Bazil’s muscles were tight under his pale skin. Hisoka felt like he was suffocating, but in the best way. He hadn’t been the one whose throat had been slit but he was the one who had his breath taken away.

Bazil waited until the man stopped moving and then stood up to their full height. They reached into their pocket and pulled out a phone, dialing a number with their thumb quickly.

“Lily?” they said. “Ah, yes I personally took care of him. Tell the others.”

They smoothed their hair down over their left eye.

“I was followed but it’s not a threat. Just some kid I bumped into a month ago.”

Hisoka felt his heart stop in his chest. How long had they known he was following them? The whole time? Until just now? Did they see him peering into the room?

Instead of fear anticipation bubbled up in Hisoka’s chest. Normally he would be scared but now, now he was excited. Maybe his facade was starting to blend with his actual personality. He couldn’t dwell on that for too long. The thought that Bazil had remembered him and now maybe would even, dare he say, fight him.

It was ecstasy.

“He was probably curious. You always tell me people become oddly fascinated with me,” Bazil said.

Hisoka didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to share Bazil.

“I’ll just let him know not to do it again. I don’t like spilling unnecessary blood, you know that. I’ll be back in a few hours. Mhmm. Alright, I’ll see you then.”

Bazil hung up and returned the phone to their pocket.

“If you leave now I won’t punish you for eavesdropping,” Bazil said.

The thought of being punished by Bazil did something odd to Hisoka. He didn’t know how to explain it. Unfortunately there was still an undertone of fear. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to see Bazil again, and fear that he would killed without a chance at a fair fight.

Bazil didn’t turn to look at him. They faced the window that looked out on the Bubei and clasped their hands together behind their back.

“I’ll count to ten,” they said.

Hisoka decided that he wanted to fight Bazil. Let them know that he was worth their time. Not now, though. Later. When he was stronger.

Hisoka quietly left the hotel room when Bazil was on the count of four and rode the elevator back down.

***

Fighting honestly hadn’t been Hisoka’s strong point, but if he wanted to fight Bazil he’d have to get stronger. The arena was also a good place to practice his cool, confident facade. It was getting easier to do, honestly. It was beginning to become second nature.

The fighters at the arena were quickly becoming afraid of Hisoka and he was reveling in it. Fighting turned out to be more thought than action. Looking for blind spots and missteps then landing a solid hit was a better strategy than hitting the other person until they fell down. Hisoka took down a girl with a well aimed punch between the shoulder blades, another with a quick poke in the eyes and then a kick to the gut. One boy tried to run out of the arena when he saw that Hisoka was his opponent, but Hisoka stuck his sticky aura to his feet so he couldn’t move. The boy pissed himself before Hisoka finished him off.

Hisoka’s prize money went to makeup. He learned how to line his eyes and he got waterproof colors for his facepaint. At first he tried putting some texture surprise stickers on his face. They came with a snack he liked. Unfortunately the glue, like almost everything else in Bubei, was cheap. Oh well, he thought. He’d just have to save up for better products.

That night Hisoka had just one fight lined up. He walked up into the arena, eyes closed, smile on his face. The crowd whooped and cheered for him. Now he was a favorite. People bet on him all the time. It made him swell with pride. 

When he opened his eyes he couldn’t stop his face from falling. It was Mar.

She looked at him with the same hard frown she usually wore. Her hoop earring dangled from her ear and glinted in the light. Hisoka quickly smiled again, not wanting to lose face in front of his audience.

“I didn’t know I’d be fighting you,” he said.

Mar cracked her wrapped knuckles.

“I did.”

A flare of panic shot up Hisoka’s spine and he stamped it back down as quickly as he could. Sweat beaded under his bangs. 

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Hisoka asked. He hated how his voice wavered.

Mar shook her head, pink hair bouncing a little bit.

“Not mad. I like you, actually,” she said.

The ref announced the start of the fight and Mar launched herself at Hisoka, kneeing him in the stomach before the blush could fade from his cheeks. The crowd screamed in excitement.

Hisoka staggered, refusing to fall down. The yellow light of the arena made everything seem hazy, almost surreal. He wheezed, waiting for another hit. it didn’t come. He wiped the spit from his mouth with the back of his hand and looked across the ring. Mar stood there, staring at him. She was giving him time to recover he realized.

Anger bubbled up in his throat.

“Don’t pity me,” Hisoka growled.

Mar tilted her head to the side.

“Okay.”

Hisoka just managed to sidestep her kick, but she whipped around and clotheslined him. Stars erupted in his vision. Mar swept his legs out from underneath him while he was still wobbly on his feet then stamped on his solar plexus. She was brutal. Quick. Merciless. 

Hisoka had never felt so in love.

Every time their skin connected he felt something warm blossom in his heart. All of Mar’s attention was focused on him. On how to make him hurt, how to make him bleed. She cared enough not to break anything, but he was in so much incredible pain. So much well placed, carefully thought out pain. 

Mar swung her fist into his cheek. Something like a moan bubbled out from between his lips. He wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or pain.

The next kick was most certainly pain. It was hard and to his crotch. Hisoka almost passed out. He didn’t know why she had to aim there. She hadn’t before, why now?

The crowed roared and cheered for Mar’s victory. Hisoka laid curled up and trembling on the arena floor.

“Hey.”

He just managed to crack his eyes open and Mar was kneeling in front of him, hand extended. He took it. She pulled him up and helped him off the stage. Hisoka clung onto her because he wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or not. Everything was hazy and he was seeing double.

“Really not a crybaby anymore, huh?” Mar said.

Hisoka tried to laugh a little but it came out more of a weak cough than anything else.

“You’re a beautiful fighter,” Hisoka wheezed.

“Don’t flirt when you can barely breathe.”

That shut him up. 

“You want to spar?” Mar asked after a minute.

They had to be outside now. The cool air felt nice against his beaten hot skin. It took him a minute to process the question.

“Yeah,” Hisoka mumbled.

Mar grunted, but Hisoka knew she was okay with it. That made him happy.

***

Arena rules stated only hand to hand combat. Anything else was fair play. Mar fought with a metal pole on the streets. She’d filed the end to a point by scraping it against the sidewalk and the sides of buildings. The pole was thin enough that she could wrap her hand around the width of it, but it was hard and sharp.

“You know you’re not supposed to bring a knife to a fistfight,” Hisoka said to cover up his nerves.

Mar looked at the pole in her hand.

“Not a knife.”

She was always to the point. Oh! He made a funny.

They were in some old abandoned lot that used to be for parking, but like many things in this part of Bubei it got old and decrepit quickly. The chain link fence around it had rusted through in some places which was how they got in. Weeds and plants burst through the blacktop and rubble covered the whole area. The perfect place for a fight.

Hisoka and Mar stood with a few feet between them. Hisoka was still a bit sore from their fight in the arena. He’d been pressing on the bruises when he was laid in his cardboard box. It reminded him of her. The sky was overcast above them. The cool air was pleasant.

“Do you want a weapon?” Mar asked.

Hisoka shook his head.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Mar looked off to the side in thought, then pointed at Hisoka with her pole.

“If I win, you teach me a card trick,” she said.

Hisoka popped his hip out to the side and rested a hand on it.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked, voice singsong.

Mar shrugged.

“What do you want?”

Hisoka looked her up and down. Her dark brown skin was littered with scars. Her muscles flexed when she tapped the pole on the ground.

“I want a kiss,” Hisoka said. He was probably pushing his luck, but it fit in with his act.

“Where?”

That threw him for a loop. It was a struggle to keep a straight face. His brain was fried, he didn’t know what to say.

“S-surprise me,” Hisoka said.

“Okay.”

Mar ran towards him, pole clenched tight between her hands. Hisoka jumped back right before she took a swing at him. She didn’t skip a beat, twirling the pole around aiming the point at him. She was very good at recovering from missed shots. 

Hisoka wanted to break her.

He ducked under the swing she took at him with her pole and managed to land a punch to her stomach. Mar gasped for air, but Hisoka rolled away from her before she could jab him with the pole. He wasn’t fast enough though, Mar ran over and stepped on him as he tumbled, stopping him in his tracks. She stabbed his thigh and Hisoka hissed at the shock of pain. He jumped away as she raised the pole again. Blood dripped down his leg but it only made his heart beat faster with excitement.

Mar never let too much space get between them and she thought fast. Hisoka barely had a second to relax. If he slipped up in any of his predictions Mar would land a hit. She didn’t show any mercy. It was more brutal than the beatdowns at the arena since she had a weapon.

Right before she pushed the pole against his chest horizontally to knock him down, Hisoka used his aura to glue his hands to the pole and stop her in his tracks. Mar looked confused for a second but Hisoka didn’t have time to get out a witty remark because she slammed her forehead into his. Hisoka crumpled to the ground. Mar sat on his stomach to keep him from getting up.

“Always fight like the other person will kill you,” she said. “One day they will try. You have to be ready.”

Hisoka blearily opened his eyes. Mar’s warm brown ones looked down at him, not unkindly. She turned around so she was straddling his chest, quickly pecked him on the lips, then stood up and got off of him. Hisoka felt like he was going to throw up, but in a good way.

“Now teach me a card trick,” Mar demanded.

Hisoka scrambled to his feet and in his haste to get the cards, spilled them all over the ground.

That was the first time he heard Mar laugh.

He also wanted to hear her cry.

***

After months of sparring with Mar, Hisoka was ready to find Bazil.

He saw them walking around town a few times since the incident at the hotel. Sometimes with subordinates, sometimes without. They always wore something skin tight and dark that showed off their muscles. Even though their face was usually nonchalant their body was very intimidating. It looked like it wouldn’t be an issue for them to bend someone in half. The thought that they could made Hisoka shiver with delight.

Mar was curious as to why he was so preoccupied with Bazil, but she wasn’t an invasive person so she didn’t pry. She probably would’ve stopped him anyway.

Hisoka was still a bit small and skinny, but he had started to get more muscle, which he liked a lot. It meant he was getting stronger. He had Mar to thank for that.

Bazil’s gang hung around another empty lot that was very close to where the skyscrapers jutted into the sky. Hisoka had been sneaking around, figuring out when Bazil would be alone and when Bazil would be talking to any of the other twenty people in the gang. The lot they were in was a good business spot. Occasionally he would see them conducting some violent “motivational work,” or taking payments from other people. 

None of the other gang members were of any interest to Hisoka.

Finally after months of preparation Hisoka was ready to make his grand appearance. He did his makeup very carefully and had Mar help him touch up the roots of his hair. It took him an hour to reach the lot where he knew Bazil would be alone.

Surely enough when he reached the lot Bazil was there. They sat on the hood of an old rusted car, book in hand.

He hoped that his presence would be enough that Bazil would look up before Hisoka had to say something. Hisoka ended up having to clear his throat to have Bazil look up at him.

“Oh. What are you doing here?” they asked.

Hisoka’s heart fluttered at the recognition.

“I’m here to fight you,” he said with practiced confidence.

The sun had begun to set behind them. Bazil looked down at Hisoka from their spot on the car and brushed some of that beautiful hair behind their ear.

“You should go home,” they said, and looked back down at their book.

It felt like something had cracked inside of Hisoka’s chest.

“Why,” he said, almost frantically. “I’ve been waiting to fight you for months!”

Bazil sighed and dogeared the page of the book they were reading. They rested the book on the hood of the car and slid off the hood. Their walk was elegant and effortless. They didn’t have to try at all. Hisoka burned with envy.

Bazil put a warm hand on Hisoka’s shoulder and knelt down a little bit so they could look each other in the eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you. You’re just a kid,” they said,

Hisoka stared at them, wide-eyed. His hands trembled and his throat felt dry. He didn’t feel the way he usually did around Bazil. He tasted bile at the back of his tongue. He was angry. He was furious.

“I’m not just a kid,” Hisoka hissed.

Bazil scoffed and stood to their full height. 

“I don’t spill unnecessary blood. Go on home,” they said, flapping their hand dismissively. “Shoo.”

Hisoka’s jaw was clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. Go on home? He didn’t have a home. He had a box. Just a box and some money tucked away behind a loose brick in the brothel wall behind him. He spent all this time getting ready to fight Bazil, to show Bazil how great he’d become. Bazil turned around to sit back on top of the car. It dawned on Hisoka that they weren’t even going to humor him with a fight.

“I love you!” Hisoka said, mostly out of desperation.

“No you don’t,” Bazil said without batting an eye.

It felt like a slap to the face, those words. Bazil didn’t look back up at him, just continued reading their book. 

Embarrassed and angry, Hisoka fled. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to break Bazil in half, snap their neck, rip their guts out. But what was the point if they weren’t going to pay attention to him? What was the point if Hisoka wasn’t even given the chance to express how he felt?

The fact that he started crying out of sheer anger only made Hisoka’s bloodlust burn harder.

This wouldn’t be the end.

***

Fighting dirty was against the rules in arena. Fortunately Bubei City wasn’t the arena. 

Before Hisoka woke Bazil up he decided to watch them sleep for a little. They looked almost angelic slumped down against that rusty car they liked to sit on. The hair that always covered the left side of their face had shifted revealing a horrible scar across their eye. Hisoka didn’t mind it at all really. Their lips were parted slightly as they breathed in and out and Hisoka truly felt heartsick. 

Then he slammed Bazil’s head back against the bumper.

Their good eye opened immediately and they gasped in pain. Bazil and Hisoka locked eyes. Hisoka smiled. Bazil didn’t.

Bazil grabbed the arm that Hisoka had used to slam their head into the car and threw him a six feet in the other direction. Hisoka rolled across the gravel of the lot, the moon bathing him in silvery light as he tumbled. 

“I said I didn’t like spilling unnecessary blood,” Bazil breathed heavily. “Now it’s not an issue.”

Hisoka couldn’t help but laugh in delight. It was like he was rejuvenated. He lept to his feet and popped his hip out like he practiced. Bazil glared at him in a way that made his insides tingle. 

Mar taught him that it was important to leave no room for the opponent to attack. Just as Bazil flicked their switchblade out Hisoka flicked his right finger and his pink aura, his Bungee Gum, sent a brick flying into Bazil’s head. When they stumbled Hisoka ran up to them and punched them in the chin. He grabbed a handful of silky hair and yanked him down to the ground, exposing his pale, slender neck. 

Bazil took a swing at Hisoka’s side. Hisoka punched him in the throat. The knife nicked his side but Bazil made a sound like an old bagpipe when he hit them. Hisoka punched them there again for good measure, loving how their pretty blue eye rolled up into their head as they struggled for air. Hisoka’s heart was beating in that way he knew meant he was feeling genuine affection, a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. He felt electrified. He wanted Bazil to know how much he loved them like this. How much he loved them.

Hisoka pried the knife from between Bazil’s fingers and drove it into their throat. Their bright, bright blood was such a nice contrast against their pale skin and black clothes. Bazil gurgled the same way the man in the hotel had and Hisoka pulled the knife back out to make it stop. Admittedly he didn’t like that noise.

The gang leader weakly laid bleeding out on the ground, eyes on Hisoka. Hisoka had never felt so happy. In this moment he was Bazil’s entire world. The most important thing there. Just before the light went out of Bazil’s eyes Hisoka leaned down and pecked them on the lips.

“Boss!”

Hisoka turned to see some of the gang members looking at him, a mixture of horror and fury on their faces. He never cared for any of them. They were competition, if anything.

The desire to spill more blood though. It was intoxicating, the heavy smell of iron on his hands. He wanted more of it. He felt so powerful. This had to be what gods felt like, Hisoka thought. He’d be more than happy to bestow his judgement on the rest of Bazil’s gang. It was a favor to them really. If they loved their boss as much as he did (they didn’t) then they would be more than happy to join them in death.

Hisoka smiled.

“I’ll be your entertainment this evening,” he said.

The faces the other gang members made let Hisoka know he was playing his role perfectly.

Hisoka didn’t get the same pleasure from killing the gang members as he did Bazil, but he still liked it. It still felt really, really good. 

The lot was filled with twenty still bleeding, cooling corpses. Hisoka was almost high on the adrenaline rush. He licked some of the blood on his thumb and shuddered. 

This was what he’d been working for. The looks of terror on people’s faces when he was about to end their lives. The feeling of being the last thing someone saw before they died. The love and hate that went into fighting someone he loved.

The glint of the knife in his hand reminded him of the metal pole Mar used. He loved Mar too. He really did.

He would have to show her.

Hisoka left the remnants of Bazil and their gang in the parking lot and trekked through the streets of Bubei covered in blood. The people who saw Hisoka immediately got out of his way when they felt the bloodlust radiating off of him, saw the manic look in his eye. For once Hisoka wasn’t paying attention to what others thought of him. The only thing on his mind was Mar.

Finally, an hour later, Hisoka reached the alley where Mar’s dumpster was. He was polite and knocked on the side of it first.

Mar poked her curly pink head out of the top, bleary eyed and grumpy. 

“Hello, Mar,” Hisoka crooned. He licked the blunt edge of the bloody knife he took from Bazil.

Mar’s eyes widened and she didn’t hesitate in throwing her pole like a javelin at Hisoka. He lept out of the way but Mar already jumped out of the dumpster and grabbed her pole. In one quick motion she used it to knock the knife out of Hisoka’s hand. Her eyes were hard. Hisoka moaned a little.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

Mar narrowed her eyes.

“Okay.”

She tried stabbing Hisoka with the business end of her pole but she found she couldn’t move it. Hisoka had two lines of Bungee Gum on each wall of the alley, holding it in place midair. He didn’t get the chance to gloat. The second Mar realized her weapon was useless she rammed herself into him. All the air in Hisoka’s lungs disappeared and it hurt to breathe in. He tried to flip over on top of Mar so he’d have the advantage but she grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head into the concrete.

Hisoka blacked out for a minute.

When he came to, ears ringing, Mar had managed to grab her pole again and was about to stab him in the face. He rolled out of the way and grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her down to the ground. Despite the pounding in his head he felt so, so good.

Mar grunted when she hit the ground and Hisoka managed to punch her in the face. She gasped, a high wheezing sound, and struggled to get up. Hisoka stuck her wrists to the ground with his aura. Her arms flexed as she tried in vain to lift her arms.

Hisoka grinned and watched her struggle for a moment. She was so beautiful like this. He told her that.

Mar glared at him, then spit a bloody tooth in his face. The shock made him lose control of his aura for a second, but a second was all Mar needed to get up and pin Hisoka to the ground. She made sure the back of his head bounced against the ground but Hisoka managed to soften the blow with his aura.

This was better than his fight with Bazil by a long shot. 

Hisoka smacked his forehead against Mar’s like she had done to him in the past. She yelled and clutched her head. Hisoka pushed her off of him and dived for the knife he’d dropped. He wanted to see her bleed. She would look beautiful covered in her own blood.

Mar drove the point of her pole through Hisoka’s hand before he could reach the knife. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling pleasure or pain, but he screamed regardless. Mar pulled the pole out of his hand and grabbed him by the shoulders. For a moment Hisoka thought she was about to kiss him. She drove her knee up into his stomach, one, two, three, four, five times. Hisoka retched, vomiting bile. His vision blacked out. He couldn’t breathe.

He felt Mar jam her elbow into his back as she kneed him in the stomach one more time. The same way she did when they first fought in the arena. Hisoka made a pathetic little sound, an attempt at a gasp, and fell to the ground. He struggled to even take one breath in. When he opened his eyes a crack he didn’t see Mar’s hand in front of him. The sharp glint of her pole moved from between his eyes to press at his adam’s apple.

Hisoka whimpered and tried to move, but he couldn’t.

The cold press of the pole left his skin.

Mar didn’t say anything.

When Hisoka finally managed to gasp for air it felt like he’d been stabbed in the stomach. He curled in on himself, clutching his stomach as he tried to breathe.

“M-Mar,” he choked out.

Hisoka heard footsteps walking away from him and the drag of metal on concrete. He heard crying, and he thought it was him, but he realized his face was dry. The crying faded with the drag of metal.

He never saw Mar again.

He pushed her memory out of his mind.


	2. Hope to Die

If you were to ask Chrollo Lucilfer where they got their Ben’s knife, they would say they stole it, obviously. If you were to ask them about any details of their childhood they’d say they don’t remember anything, or at least they don’t remember anything important.

The first answer is a lie, though not intentionally. The second answer is true, which is why the first answer is a lie.

Sixteen years ago in Meteor city there was no troupe, although half the members were all around. With the millions of people inhabiting the junkyard city it was easy to lose track of who was where despite the unspoken camaraderie between the residents.

Most of young Chrollo’s time was spent finding food. With enough searching through the various decrepit buildings and near mountainous piles of garbage you could find near anything. Except food. Food would have to be bought or caught if you didn’t want it coming back up minutes later. Pigeons were easy to catch but there wasn’t much on them. Crows were ever present, but woe befall anyone who attacked the intelligent corvids. Rats were hard to catch, and it was easier to befriend a cat and have them help catch rodents than it was to kill one.

It was the search for food that brought Chrollo to Alma.

It’d been midday, the sun beating down on the cracked beige dirt of Meteor City. It’d been three days since Chrollo last ate, and since they had no family there weren’t too many who could give them food. It wasn’t out of spite or cruelty, there just wasn’t enough to go around. It was a rare day that anyone had extra, let alone enough to sate their own hunger.

Chrollo’s stomach gurgled and churned as they dug through one particularly pungent pile of garbage. Even though their nose had become blind to the ever present stink of garbage long ago, there was something acrid about this area. They figured something was rotting, and things that rotted could usually be eaten.

They hefted a particularly large piece of something that was probably part of an old machine and knocked it down the trash pile. It echoed and clanged on the way down, but instead of the dull thud that indicated it hit the earth there was a wet crack and a swear. Chrollo felt their chest seize up. Their fight or flight reaction kicked in and was leaning towards flight.

“Who’s up there?”

The voice sounded old and very very displeased. Chrollo scrambled up the side of the trash heap, ready to call it a day and sleep off the hunger again. A bony hand gripped their ankle, and they shrieked as they were yanked down to the ground. They hit their tailbone right on the hard earth and while the pain radiated through their body an old woman stood over them.

Chrollo realized what the smell was coming from.

“You killed my fucking lunch, brat!” she spit.

Chrollo rubbed at their backside and looked over to the chunk of metal that fell a little ways over. Red slowly seeped into the dry earth underneath the rusty junk. The smallest bit of anger bubbled up in Chrollo’s gut. If they were paying better attention they could’ve stole whatever the woman had.

“You owe me, kid,” the woman snarled.

She was pretty ugly. Her skin was the color and texture of an old leather couch. Her hair was white and dry, flying all around her like a tornado. One of her eyes was huge and bulbous, probably made of glass, and the other was so rheumy Chrollo wasn’t sure what color it was. They were wary of the strange knife strapped to her waist.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident,” Chrollo said. They made sure to sound as sincere as possible, even make their eyes water a little. From experience the sight of a hungry child was enough to create some semblance of pity in most people.

“No such thing as accidents,” the woman said. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, down the cluttered winding path that lead through the garbage piles. “You’re helping me find a replacement meal. On your feet now, I haven’t got all day.”

This was a disaster. Odds were they’d be stuck helping her find food and get nothing in return. Provided they didn’t pass out from hunger first. It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe if they bargained with her they could weasel their way out of this. Chrollo dug around in their ratty short pocket, happy to find that their trinket was still in there. They dangled the thin chain with a bit of crystal jewelry in front of them. They’d been saving it to trade for a pair of shoes, but they didn’t want to end up with an enemy, even if it was an old woman.

“You can have this as an apology,” Chrollo said, as earnestly as he could pretend to sound.

The woman peered at the crystal. Chrollo wrinkled his nose at her smell.

“Kid?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me, can you eat that?”

Chrollo looked at the necklace and frowned. “No…?”

If you were really determined, they supposed, you could.

“Then what am I going to do with that?”

The woman grabbed Chrollo by the ear and they yelped. The woman had a vice grip, but Chrollo quickly turned themselves around and tried to sink their teeth into the woman’s arm. Her soft wrinkled skin was like steel under Chrollo’s teeth. Pain blossomed in their mouth but the all-consuming thought that this woman wasn’t human and could kill them in a second permeated their mind.

Instead of struggling, they went limp. The woman dragged them through the rubble. Chrollo immediately regret coming to this side of the city to scavenge for food. They should’ve stolen some bread instead and risked the beating. They didn’t know what the woman would do, and she smelled like a dying animal to top it all off. Chrollo pinched their nose as the woman pulled them along, ear red and hot from being manhandled.

The sun bore down on the odd pair and finally, after what seemed like an hour, the woman came to a stop and released Chrollo. They fell to the ground, far less irritated than they thought they would be. There was something odd about this woman and they were always thirsting for knowledge, even at a tender age. He wanted to know why the woman had such tough skin when it looked like it was sagging and could fall off her any second.

She had pulled Chrollo along to another area filled with garbage, but this one had some creatures crawling in and out of the piles, too fast for them to make out what they were. The woman nodded in the direction of a particularly nasty looked pile filled with old open refrigerators and baby strollers.

“Start hunting, kid,” the woman said. She sat herself down on the ground. The robe she wore was already stained, tattered, and dirty. The dirt almost looked clean by comparison.

Instead of arguing that she should help, Chrollo simply nodded and ran to the nearest garbage heap. They wanted to know what the woman was hiding and they’d always been curious by nature. Maybe if they appeased her she’d tell him something. A small price to pay if you thought about it.

The creatures turned out to be some of the biggest rats that Chrollo had ever seen, though they could’ve been small weasels. Sweat dripped down the back of their neck as they tried to figure out how to capture one of the animals. Their stomach gurgled painfully.

The garbage pile towered over Chrollo’s small body as they dug around for some kind of tool. The woman watched them with interest, smell still powerful as ever. They finally settled on an old pipe that had been jammed in the bent spokes of a bicycle. It was a little heavy, but heavy was what you wanted when you were crushing skulls.

Chrollo trained their eyes on the furry rats darting in and out of the garbage, the pipe sweaty between their palms. This was all about timing. Just as one darted down the pile to run to another tower of trash Chrollo quickly blocked it’s way with the pipe, then smashed it over the rat’s head while it was dazed. They picked the rat up by the tail and walked over to the woman, dropping it to her feet.

“Here’s your food. Why is your skin so hard?”

“You think one rat will get you an answer? I’m still pissed you made me drag you here to replace my food. You’re gonna need to work harder than that.”

The quick burn of anger seared the back of Chrollo’s throat, but the knowledge that they might get an answer out of the woman if they complied kept them from opening their mouth. They wrapped their cracked fingers around the end of the pipe and walked over to another pile of garbage.

Ten rats and five rat bites later, the woman told Chrollo to stop. Both the pile of rodents and the child were bleeding sluggishly on the ground. Chrollo’s stomach growled again and it felt like it was trying to digest itself. Their vision was going fuzzy around the edges. The sun had begun to set and it stained the clouded beige of Meteor City bright orange. The few clouds overhead were gradated gray but held no promise of rain. Chrollo’s mouth was so dry.

The old woman appraised the pile of rats. She scratched at her chin and swiped her tongue across the teeth she still had in her mouth.

“Not bad. I’ll start a fire.”

In the back of Chrollo’s mind there was a dim realization that the woman implied they could eat with her. They were always good at picking up subtle nuances of conversation and body language. It helped with stealing food and other things necessary for survival. Rather than say thank you Chrollo made a weak little moan and held their stomach pitifully. Hopefully that would make the woman feel a little sympathy towards them, and give them more food.

Chrollo was such a great actor. They were even able to act out dark spots appearing in their vision to make it seem like they were about to black out from exhaustion.

When Chrollo came to, the sun had set fully and the smell of burning flesh was heavy in the air. They were dizzy as they pushed themselves up. As they rubbed their head absently they noticed the old woman was sitting a little ways away from him in front of a fire. The rats were speared through on sharpened sticks and thin metal rods roasting over the fire. Chrollo’s stomach growled so loudly the woman looked up from the meat she’d been chewing on.

“Ah. I thought you died,” she said.

“So you just left me on the ground?” Chrollo asked.

“You’re not my responsibility. You gonna eat anything or not?”

Chrollo scrambled to their feet and grabbed the first rat in reach, promptly dropping it on the ground when they burned their hands on the hot metal skewer. They blew on their hands frantically in an attempt to sooth the burning. The fire crackled behind them and the old woman didn’t lift a finger to help Chrollo. She just chewed through her rat on a stick, good eye on the black haired child, glass eye looking off somewhere to the far right.

Once the burning feeling dulled to a gentle throbbing (although Chrollo was sure there’d be some minor burns later), they tore into the rat not caring about any dirt that had gotten on it. Their stomach hurt from eating so quickly after starving, and the rat didn’t particularly taste good, but it the feeling of having anything in their stomach was almost blissful. The woman skinned the rat and only gutted the intestines, but Chrollo had to stop themself from chewing on the bones. Without a second thought they reached for another rat, aiming for a wooden stick this time, and tore into it.

The old woman watched Chrollo as they inhaled their food. She mouthed on the meat of the rat’s side. The light of the fire made the lines in her face look dark and deep, more like fissures than wrinkles.

When Chrollo reached for a fourth rat the woman finally spoke again.

“What are you doing?”

She smacked Chrollo’s little hand with her half eaten rat and Chrollo recoiled.

“Don’t eat all my food you little mooch!” she growled. “First you kill it then you eat it.”

Chrollo pouted and made their eyes shine with tears. Food was right in front of them and they wanted to take the opportunity to get as much as possible at once. They didn’t know when their next meal would be. The old woman took a look at them and snorted. Chrollo frowned. Garnering sympathy clearly wasn’t going to work with this one.

They waited until the old woman took a bit from her rat, both of her hands occupied and attention on the food, to snatch two of the rats away from the fire and bolt off into the night. They were still curious about the woman’s tough skin, but hunger won out over curiosity this time around. Chrollo dashed between mountains of garbage, the half-moon lighting their path. Their hand burned under another metal rod but they kept their grip tight.

Normally Chrollo was very good at stealing. Sometimes they thought they could make a living being a thief, never wanting for anything ever again. It was a novel thought. They wondered if they would live long enough for that to be a career option. A phantom thief, like from that story he heard someone telling once in the town. Was it Lupin? They were pretty sure that was his name.

After a few minutes of weaving through the trash heaps Chrollo figured it was safe to sit down. They plopped down in front of rusty of radiator and caught their breath. They were dizzy again, probably because even though they ate they were still incredibly thirsty. Maybe they would hide the food they just got and then find some water.

“You’re pretty fast for a starving pipsquak, aintcha?”

The old woman’s face appeared in Chrollo’s spotting vision in a fraction of a second and the shock made their vision fade straight to black.

***

Chrollo woke up to the sound of rain.

It was odd that they only woke up because of the pattering noise of rain on metal, and not to the feeling of rain soaking into their clothes and dripping into their nose. Their head was pounding and before they open their eyes they grimaced and rested a palm to their forehead. They didn’t remember when they’d fell asleep.

Slowly they opened their eyes. They were under a tarp that was being held up by…something. It was hard to tell amongst all the strips of string and rope, and the various metal poles and screws jutting up from the ground. An acrid smell burned in the air and they wrinkled their nose. They sat up, wincing as a pulse of pain spiked behind their eyes and looked around. Huddled up in the corner of the hideaway was the old woman, one glazed eye fixed on them.

Chrollo didn’t shriek, but they almost flipped tail over head in their effort to get away. The woman was unbothered and continued puffing on a slightly damp cigar.

“Good mornin’ to you too,” she said.

The space that was cleared wasn’t that big. Maybe three people could fit inside lengthwise and the ceiling was uneven, high in some places, too low to stand in others. Chrollo looked around quickly, trying to piece together what they were doing there and how to escape. The old woman didn’t move. There was a small fire pit between the two of them with something cooking over the metal netting of a tennis racket. Chrollo looked between the food and the woman and suddenly, they remembered.

They had gotten caught stealing food. How embarrassing.

Behind Chrollo were flaps of tarp that led to the outside. Chilly air blew in between the separation. They weren’t sure where they were in the city, but they had a pretty good sense of direction. They could probably get back to the place they had camped out in before getting ambushed by this harpy.

“Go check the rain bowl,” the woman said, nodding in the direction of the entrance.

“Wh-what?” was all Chrollo managed to choke out. Their throat was like sandpaper.

The old woman rolled one eye, the glass one stayed bulging in place. It was almost comical.

“Reach outside and get the rain bowl. You’re thirsty.”

Chrollo involuntarily swallowed, but the little bit of spit they had dried up before it could reach their throat. They nodded and crawled to the edge of the makeshift tent. Despite the fact that the air had been so dry it was almost static before, rain was coming down hard. The bowl was old and cracked but filled with cold water. Chrollo didn’t bother pulling it back into the tent instead almost dunking their face into it as rain pounded on the back of their head. The water was cool, heavenly against their parched throat. A roll of thunder surprised Chrollo and water shot up their nose. They sputtered and decided to bring the bowl inside.

The old women snorted when she caught sight of Chrollo’s sopping wet head, black hair hanging in their eyes like a wet dog’s.

Chrollo pushed the half-full bowl forward and the woman took it. She downed the water while Chrollo pushed their hair out of their face. The woman didn’t seem hostile, but they were still wary. Even though the denizens of Meteor City were loyal to each other against outsiders, in fighting wasn’t unheard of. The woman had reason to give Chrollo a hard time too.

She finished what was in the bowl and handed it back to Chrollo. They put it back outside to fill with more rainwater. Chrollo took the chance to look around and see where they were, and for the most part they seemed fairly far away from where they started. The hideaway was elevated for the most part, and they’d probably slip on the way down. The dark gray of the sky and the torrential downpour would lessen visibility too. A quick escape wouldn’t be without injury

Chrollo pouted.

The old woman laughed suddenly, and Chrollo jumped. Their body tensed, ready to run or fight, whichever came first.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

Chrollo was at a loss. Their name? What was she going to do with that?

The woman took one last drag on her old cigar before rubbing it into the ground, putting it out. A fair amount of Meteor City was always smoking, but the smell of cigar smoke was more acrid than the smog that usually permeated the air. Chrollo thought about pinching their nose, but then if they breathed through their nose they would be able to taste the smell, which was arguably worse.

“Well? I know you ain’t mute.”

Chrollo wasn’t sure if giving their name was the best idea, but they had nothing to lose. They always had nothing to lose, now that they thought about it.

“Chrollo Lucilfer,” they said. They had a bit of pride in the fact they had a last name. It wasn’t too common here. They liked having something that other people couldn’t have.

The old woman nodded in acknowledgement.

“Alma,” she said.

No last name. Chrollo thought that maybe Alma wasn’t dangerous, but they remembered how she snuck up on them before, and how they couldn’t bite through their skin. Despite her age and decrepit appearance, Chrollo didn’t know what she was capable of, so they were nervous.

“Why is your skin so hard?”

“All you do is ask questions and eat my food,” Alma said. “Are you good for anything or are you just a leech?”

Alright, that stung a little. They were a fairly good thief, although not this time. They could read a little bit, which was better than most in the city. They had a feeling Alma wouldn’t be impressed by something like that though.

Chrollo opened their mouth to make a witty retort, but their stomach growled instead. The meat that Alma was cooking over the fire pit sizzled enticingly. Alma rolled her good eye and Chrollo flushed in embarrassment.

Alma pulled a stick off the ground and prodded the meat with it, turning it over.

“It’s called nen,” she said.

Nen? Chrollo had never heard of that. They tried not to let their lack of knowledge show, but Alma immediately picked up on it.

“You don’t know much, do you?”

“If you told me I’d know more,” Chrollo said indignantly.

“I’ll give you that,” she said.

It sounded like she was going to explain herself, but she just poked at the meat. Chrollo looked between the food and Alma, but she didn’t acknowledge him. Chrollo wasn’t sure what to say. They kind of wanted more food.

“You can go,” Alma said.

Chrollo was confused. Alma shooed them with her free hand.

“Go on. I just didn’t want to leave you passed out in the rain. Didn’t need it hanging on my conscious.”

A flash of lightning followed by a low pulse of thunder punctuated her words. It felt as if a wall had suddenly formed between the two of them. Chrollo still had questions, and Alma had barely provided any answers.

Chrollo turned around and left Alma’s home. The warm orange light was replaced with cold, gray rain. They made sure to carefully absorb the details of the area around the garbage pile Alma’s home was tucked into.

***

Shoes were honestly a blessing. Compared to going around barefoot, having any sort of barrier between the hot ground and their feet was novel and almost exciting. Maybe in the future Chrollo would invest in some boots that covered more of their legs. Something more stylish than the simple sneakers they traded that crystal necklace for. Chrollo had been so long without shoes they couldn’t actually feel anything through the callouses on their feet, but the shoes. The shoes were so nice. Chrollo really liked their shoes.

They’d been sitting down in front of Alma’s home for the better part of the day, a stolen loaf of bread held tight in their hands. They still wanted answers. The old woman being so cryptic only made Chrollo want to know more. What was nen and why did it make her skin so hard? Chrollo had to know. Not knowing was keeping him up at night. They took care to remember the way to her home and come back a week later with a peace offering. A bribe maybe? You could call it whatever got them the information they wanted.

Finally, after sitting in the heat for three hours, Alma walked up to Chrollo with some kind of dead animal in her hands.

“You again?”

Chrollo held the bread out to her.

“What is nen?” they asked.

Alma stared down at him. Her dry white hair was in something that resembled a braid today. It hung stiffly by her waist, next to her knife. She looked between Chrollo and the loaf of bread in their hand. To Chrollo’s delight she snatched the bread out of his hands and took a bite out of it.

“I don’t wanna waste time teaching you about nen if you can’t use it,” she said between mouthfuls of bread. Spittle and crumbs flew from her wrinkled mouth. “So I’m gonna give you a choice.”

Chrollo nodded, all attention on Alma.

“If you want to I’ll give you what we call a nen baptism. If it works you’ll be able to use nen. It’s got a pretty good chance of killing you though,” she looked Chrollo up and down. “I’ll say you got maybe, a three out of ten chance of making it out of it alive.”

Chrollo, much to Alma’s surprise, grinned widely.

“I’ll do it!” they said excitedly.

Alma frowned.

“What are you, six?”

“Ten.”

“You might die, kid. You heard what I said, right?”

“I’m not afraid of dying,” Chrollo said.

Alma eyed the black haired child carefully.

“Why not?” she asked.

Chrollo was surprised she asked. It wasn’t something they really thought about. Why weren’t they afraid of dying? Yes, if they were attacked they’d try to defend themselves, but in the grand scheme of things if Chrollo was staring down the barrel of a gun they’d accept it.

“In a place like this,” Chrollo finally said, “my life isn’t worth very much, so it doesn’t make a difference if I die or not.”

The old woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set what she’d been carrying down on the ground. The half-eaten loaf of bread was placed delicately on top of her bag.

“You’re right, Chrollo.”

Ah, she remembered their name. Alma pointed off to her side, where a long unobstructed path fractured into dozens of others, winding through the garbage.

“Stand right over there. I don’t wanna bust up my house.”

Chrollo walked over to where Alma pointed and spread their arms wide, leaving their front completely open.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Alma snapped. “You gotta be closer. I’m gonna punch you in the stomach.”

“Is that a threat?” Chrollo asked.

“No, how else am I gonna unlock your nen?”

Chrollo didn’t know the answer to that, so they walked up to Alma until there was only a foot of space separating them.

“I’ll ask you one more time. You have a thirty percent chance at best of living. That’s if I dropped ten spiders on you, and seven of them are deadly toxic. Poisonous one will probably bite and kill you, not the safe one.”

Chrollo smiled.

“I like spiders,” they said, and spread their arms out wide.

Alma sucked her teeth and cracked the knuckles of her right hand before pulling it back.

“Remember, you asked for it,” she said.

Chrollo felt some kind of energy radiating off of Alma as she got ready to hit him. The sun beat down harshly over the two of them and in a split second Alma was only a centimeter away from him, fist buried deep into Chrollo’s gut. Chrollo’s vision immediately whited out and an explosion of pain exploded through their body. They flew back and crashed into one of the many piles of trash. It took five tries to breath in, and when the air finally filled their lungs it felt like they got punched again.

As they struggled for air they felt like something was escaping their body. They couldn’t quite put their finger on what, but they were growing tired. It was too much effort to try and open their eyes.

“Chrollo! Get up!”

Chrollo felt their body get picked up. Their legs dangled in the air. Alma had a surprisingly strong grip on their tattered shirtfront.

“Focus, kid. You’re not in the clear yet!”

Chrollo whimpered. They’d never been hit that hard before. It felt like they were dying for sure.

“You feel your aura coming out? Keep it in. Hold it in, or you’ll die,” Alma said.

Their aura? Chrollo assumed that was what they felt escaping their body. They wondered why they’d never felt it until a strange old woman punched them.

“Clock’s ticking!” Alma said. Her voice sounded fainter than before.

Chrollo tried to focus on their aura. It felt like all the air in their lungs was being sucked out through their skin. Even though they could feel their consciousness fading in and out Chrollo tried to focus on the aura flowing through their body. They imagined it was like their lifeblood coursing through their veins.

They felt less lightheaded after a moment.

Chrollo finally managed to open their eyes a little bit, the sun nearly blinding them. Alma’s wrinkled old face was split in a wide grin, showing off all her missing and crooked yellow teeth.

“Looks like we got a little prodigy here.”

Chrollo groaned in pain.

***

Learning about nen was less fun than Chrollo thought it would be.

Alma told them by all means, leave if they didn’t want to go through with training and save her the trouble. If Chrollo didn’t have a naturally insatiable curiosity, they might have left. Instead they showed up by Alma’s house almost every day to learn about nen. Some of the kids they hung out with sometimes wondered where they’d been going, but Chrollo just smiled charmingly and waved them off.

Just in case they were being followed, Chrollo took a different path to Alma’s every time they went. They didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention. Partially because Chrollo wanted to keep their teacher to themselves, and partially because they didn’t want Alma to get annoyed with them and refuse to teach.

It was hard work, learning nen. Boring work.

For a month straight Alma left Chrollo atop a mountain of trash and told them to focus their Ten. Once Chrollo snuck off to go do something else. Alma was busy skinning some animal for food so they thought she wouldn’t notice. When she went up to get him after a few hours she wasn’t happy.

“I thought you wanted to learn what nen was?” she said.

Chrollo was confused. “I do,” they said.

“Then whydja leave?”

Guilt immediately settled in Chrollo’s chest, but they kept their face straight and their heartbeat consistent.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” they lied.

“You went off that way,” Alma licked her index finger and pointed off to the left where the sun had begun to set, “two hours ago. You just got back. Did you think I wouldn’t notice, punk?”

Chrollo was at a loss.

“If you sat here and worked on your Ten then maybe later I’d teach you how I knew you went off. Seems like you’re not that interested in learning after all, Chrollo.”

“No! I want to learn!” Chrollo said quickly. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Alma narrowed her eyes at them.

“If it does not only will I beat you clear out of this dump, you won’t be learning anything else from me,” she spat.

With the agility of a much younger woman she slid down to the level ground and walked over to her home.

“Get in here before the pigeon gets cold!”

Chrollo scrambled down to follow her inside. They never asked Alma for food, but she always managed to find some. Whether she stole it, killed it herself, or bought it was anyone’s guess but Chrollo decided it would be better not to ask. Alma didn’t insist that they eat but they always gave Chrollo a funny look if they didn’t follow her inside to eat at least once. It was nice getting to eat on a daily basis. Sometimes when Chrollo was about to leave she would put a tiny bit of wrapped meat into his hand without a word. They were expected to take it and leave, no thank you’s, no nothing.

It was an odd relationship, Chrollo thought.

They didn’t really mind.

***

“You have to focus your Ren around the cup.”

“How is this supposed to tell me about my nen?” Chrollo asked.

Alma cuffed Chrollo over the back of the head and they yelped. A small cup full of water sat between the two, a dried old leaf floated on the surface. It was overcast that day, a haze of gray enveloping the city. It was humid. Beads of condensation dripped down the side of the cup

“Just do it!”

Chrollo cupped their hands around the cup and focused their Ren under Alma’s scrutinizing gaze. They weren’t sure what was supposed to happen, but Alma looked hard at the leaf in the cup like it was going to tell her something.

Slowly, the leaf began to sink to the bottom of the cup. Chrollo wasn’t sure what it meant but Alma hummed in interest.

“Is that it?” Chrollo asked.

“No, keep going,” Alma said, looking at the cup intently.

Chrollo focused their nen, wondering what the importance of the leaf had to do with anything. The water bubbled a bit, and then two identical leaves floated up to the surface of the water. Alma motioned for them to stop and Chrollo put their hands in their lap.

“Did you learn anything? Do you know what that means?” Chrollo asked.

“Looky looky, you’re a specialist,” Alma ran her good eye over Chrollo. “The leaf did something weird. I’m an enhancer so if I do what you did—here watch.”

Alma put her hands around the cup and the water quickly bubbled up, overflowing and spilling on the floor. Chrollo watched with rapt attention instead of moving out of the spreading water.

“What does it mean?” they asked. Chrollo didn’t know what the terms meant, but they could assume being a specialist meant they were, well, special. They liked that.

“Well, specialists are rare amongst us nen users. Your Hatsu will probably be a sight to see when you develop it,” Alma said.

“Hatsu?”

“We’re on that yet. You still have to learn Zetsu, squirt.”

Chrollo pouted. She couldn’t just bring up Hatsu and then change the subject. They wanted to know more, they wanted all the details.

“I want to learn Hatsu. Can’t I learn that now?” they put on their best pleading pout. “You said I’m special.”

Alma flicked Chrollo’s forehead and they recoiled, hands over the reddening spot.

“I can’t teach you Hatsu, but you’d know that if you. Paid. Attention. I told you there were things I can’t teach you last week, remember?”

Chrollo grumbled to themselves and crossed their arms petulantly. Alma snorted and spit a wad of mucus into the corner of her home.

“This is why I never had kids. Ungrateful, the lot of you!”

Chrollo’s stomach growled.

“And you’re always hungry.”

“I’ve been working hard, that’s why I’m hungry!”

Alma rolled her eyes.

“Hardly working more like it.”

Alma turned around to grab one of the ratty old towels she had in the makeshift cabinet behind her. Chrollo dipped their fingers into the spilled water and flicked it on Alma’s bare arms. She glared at them but Chrollo gave her a wide eyed, innocent look.

“Oh, look at the cup,” she said suddenly, pointing at the water. “You did something!”

Chrollo scrambled to look into the cup, excited to see what happened. Maybe they were something better than a specialist!

Alma grinned evilly and quickly channeled her Ren into the cup. A blast of water shot out and hit Chrollo in the face. The child sputtered and coughed while Alma cackled. In a futile attempt to get back at her Chrollo grabbed the cup and pointed it towards her face. A leaf popped out and fluttered to the ground. Alma wheezed and beat the ground with her fist, laughing so hard tears came from her eyes.

Chrollo couldn’t help but laugh as well.

***

Chrollo had been spending a lot of time with Alma. Learning nen required diligence and long periods of meditation, which they learned not to mind. They found they liked taking time to think and deliberate about themselves and the things around them. Alma was fond of coming up behind them and thumping them on the back of the head when they were lost in thought.

“Someone’s gonna end up getting killed if you don’t fucking pay attention, kid,” she said.

That was ridiculous. They paid attention to most things, at least the things they thought were important at the time. Alma cackled and spit on the ground when they told her that.

“You just watch, someone’s gonna sneak up on you and try to kick your ass one day. Why are you getting distracted? Keep meditating!”

Sometimes Chrollo would fall asleep meditating. They always wound up waking up in Alma’s home. She was never asleep no matter what hour Chrollo woke up. They weren’t sure if she needed to. At night she would sit by the entrance to her home and look out over the city. It seemed like she was looking for something, or maybe keeping watch. It wasn’t something she ever brought attention to.

The old woman never asked where Chrollo lived or stayed, but she never objected to them being around. Chrollo was free to come and go and they pleased as well. There were a lot of unspoken agreements between the two.

Conversations were few and far between when it wasn’t on the subject of nen. Chrollo made up for it by asking questions. Whenever Alma actually answered them the answer was filed away.

“How old are you?”

“Haven’t you heard that it’s rude to ask a woman her age? Ninety-two.”

“How come you always have food?”

“Because I need to eat to live, what kinda stupid question is that?”

“How come you only have one eye?”

“I got into a fight with someone who kept asking me questions.”

Chrollo paused.

“Did you win?”

“Does it look like I won?”

“Why is your skin so hard?”

“That’s my Hatsu. Elephant’s hide.”

“Can I learn Hatsu yet?”

“You need to learn Zetsu first.”

***

Usually hide and seek was a fun game to play. There was this one kid that Chrollo saw sometimes around the city, Hisoka, who was particularly good at it. If Chrollo won Hisoka would offer them a piece of gum. Alma said learning Zetsu would be like playing a game of hide and seek.

“You’ll have a great time, just don’t get caught,” Alma said.

Chrollo wasn’t sure why they believed her, especially since she said that while wearing that wide grin that made her glass eye almost bulge out of her face. Nothing good happened when she smiled like that.

Well, nothing good for Chrollo anyway.

Zetsu was the opposite of Ren, Alma had said. Well not exactly, but for the sake of teaching Chrollo that’s the way she put it. While in a state of Zetsu the flow of aura in the body stops, like turning off a faucet. The pro was that other nen users wouldn’t be able to sense you, you could relieve fatigue faster, and you became more sensitive to other nen users since your own aura wasn’t clogging you up. The con was that even the smallest nen attack would do considerable damage.

“It’s a great thing to know if you’re a little thief,” Alma said.

Once Chrollo got the hang of closing off their aura nodes, Alma proposed a game of hide and seek to test their skill.

“It’ll be fun,” Alma insisted. “Just don’t let me find you.”

Within the first five minutes of hiding Alma had found Chrollo squatting under an old tire. Instead of switching roles she punted him ten feet southeast. Chrollo blacked out for a few seconds and awoke to Alma standing over them, hands on her hips.

“That won’t do, Chrollo,” she tsked. “You can use Zetsu better than that!”

“Are…we going to switch roles?” Chrollo mumbled, head still pounding from the impact.

Alma grinned wide like a jack o’ lantern.

“Nope.”

Chrollo sprinted through Meteor City, ever thankful for the sneakers they had bought months before. Their lungs burned from running so far and their whole body was slick with sweat. Every passing shadow had them rolling to the side and waiting for whatever it had been to pass. Sometimes it was Alma. Chrollo realized she was also in a state of Zetsu and in a split second she used Ren to send them flying. Her Zetsu was perfect, which meant Chrollo only knew she was near them when she landed a hit.

The sun began to set, dyeing the horizon orange and casting huge shadows across the ground. Chrollo’s feet pounded the ground while they focused on maintaining their Zetsu.

Just as Chrollo rounded a corner around the side of an old decrepit building they were flat on their back, vision exploding with stars. They moaned in pain, resisting the urge to curl up into a ball.

“C’mon, Chrollo, you can do better than that!” Alma said. “We’ll stop when I can see you but can’t sense you.”

Chrollo gave a stiff nod then rolled over, eyes still shut in pain, and took off in the opposite direction. They were determined to do a good job. They felt they wanted to impress Alma, to show her what they were capable of. Chrollo pushed their sweaty hair back and out of their face. They could do this.

Alma ran Chrollo from one side of the city to the other. They didn’t perfect their Zetsu that day, but they did “A damn good job.”

Somehow Alma managed to get a hold of some sweet cake. When Chrollo woke up from where they’d camped out for the week it was wrapped in some slightly dirty paper, no note. They knew where it came from. Alma spit on the ground when Chrollo said thank you.

“Don’t say shit like that. Gives me hives.”

***

It took seventy-nine days for Chrollo’s Zetsu to get good enough for them to sneak up on Alma without her noticing. They counted.

“A goddamn prodigy, I knew it!” she had said.

The sky was gray and the air was full of static. Alma told Chrollo to meditate inside, she didn’t want to take care of them if they got sick. Chrollo had a feeling if they did get sick she would’ve taken care of them anyway.

Alma was leaned up against the support rod in front of the entrance to her home. Her dry straw hair was pulled up in a bun and she was barefoot, knobbly old toes with yellowing nails putting a seriously heinous smell into the air. Chrollo was used to the smells Alma generated by now. Then again they could’ve just gone smell blind. She made Meteor City smell good.

She was fiddling with that strange knife she carried. The hilt was black and the blade split into two segments. Two horizontal lines of metal joined the blade to the back end. Alma held it up in front of her face in her wrinkly hands. The mood was strange. She seemed oddly somber.

“That’s a weird knife,” Chrollo said.

“I thought I told you to meditate on your Ten,” she replied.

Chrollo frowned. She sounded distant.

“I don’t have to mediate with my eyes closed all the time,” they said.

She hummed in respond and ran a boney finger along the back of the last blade. Chrollo could detect a bit of aura coming off the weapon. It was strange, but Alma had mentioned that traces of your nen could wind up on things you used frequently.

It wasn’t her aura, though.

Alma’s aura was mean and rough. Chrollo was used to it and now they felt calm whenever they felt her presence. She had told them her aura tended to irritate people.

“I’m an au-natural jackass,” she had said.

Chrollo couldn’t identify the aura around the knife.

“You have any friends, Chrollo?” Alma asked.

The sudden question made Chrollo falter in maintaining their Ten. They brought it back up before answering. Alma would yell at them for slacking if they didn’t.

“I have some,” Chrollo said. “Feitan and Nobunaga. A loud person named Uvo-san.”

“How come Uvo gets a san and I don’t?”

“I never thought about it…”

Why did Uvo get a san?

Alma snorted at the faraway look on Chrollo’s face.

“Oh, there’s also a boy named Hisoka. Sometimes I see him around. He’s always by himself.”

“Hisoka, huh? Sneaky. Sounds like a piece of work,” Alma said.

“He’s quite shy,” Chrollo said, thoughtfully.

“Say that in a couple of years and get back to me on that,” Alma said and, suddenly, she burst out into dry harsh laughter.

“A couple of years,” she murmured, wiping a tear from her eye.

She fiddled with the knife again and peered out the entrance of her home. When she sighed it sounded like she was deflating.

“Keep on knowing people, Chrollo,” Alma said. “You’ll never get out of this city if you don’t.”

Chrollo tilted their head to the side in confusion. What was she going on about? Alma wasn’t one for talks like this. It almost seemed sentimental coming from her. Something about her posture was annoying Chrollo. They knew she was old but there was something about the way she was sitting that almost made her look like an decrepit, worn statue. The kind that were half buried in the sand and covered in moss, forgotten by the world.

“Why should I get out of the city?” Chrollo asked.

Alma turned to give him the most withering look she could muster.

“You telling me you like living in shithole city? Is the smog that fucking pleasant to breathe in, or am I missing something?”

Chrollo shook their head.

“Is something wrong?” they asked.

Alma’s face dropped, glass eye almost as foggy and clouded as her real one. The look she had on her face was almost exaggerated, her mouth drawn down low, her wrinkles pulled down. Then she laughed, slapping her knee and coughing like she’d heard the funniest joke in the world.

“You’re too smart for your own good, Chrollo,” she said gesturing at him with the knife. She pulled it away quickly, thinking better of pointing it at Chrollo. “Whoops, the blade’s poisonous. I keep forgetting.”

She ran her tongue over her dry lips, then spit up another loogie.

“I’m gonna die tomorrow,” Alma said.

Chrollo felt like they were on the receiving end of a kick to the stomach. What did she just say? They must’ve been hearing things.

“Don’t waste my time with a ‘that can’t be true’ or so help me,” she warned.

Chrollo opened and closed their mouth like a fish out of water. They felt dizzy, their tongue was dry in their mouth.

“How—How do you know?” they asked.

“Good question!” Alma said with a curt nod. “I pissed off the wrong people, again. I stole this a while back.”

She brandished the knife she was holding.

“And you know what? I’m fine with it.”

“But you can fight them! Use…use your Hatsu! Your Elephant hide! You’re so strong, they can’t kill you!”

“They can, and they will. Sit down, kid, you’re gonna step in the fire pit.”

Chrollo didn’t realize they had gotten up, or that they’d broken into a cold sweat. They almost collapsed onto their knees. Alma looked so sure of herself, so accepting of her fate. Chrollo’s hands shook as they tried to find their words. She couldn’t die, she just couldn’t! This had to be some kind of terrible joke. It was payback for when they ate too much of her food last week. She was just trying to upset them.

“You can’t die,” Chrollo said weakly.

Alma looked irritated now. She rolled her eye and pointed at her face.

“Tell me, do I look like God?”

“I—I don’t know what G—”

“Do I look like Jesus? No, that’s a bad example Jesus died once. Twice? Doesn’t matter I’m probably going straight to hell,” she scratched at her whiskery chin. “Anyway! I’m gonna die. We’re born, we live, we die. It’s just a matter of when. For me it happens to be tomorrow. Hopefully you got a couple more years ahead of ya.”

“But—”

“No cuts, no butts, no coconuts. I’m giving you a heads up. Don’t come by tomorrow cause I’ll probably be stinking up the place more than usual.”

Alma got up, left the knife on the ground, and squatted down next to Chrollo. She rubbed her thumb underneath their eyes and wiped it on her tattered old robes. Oh. Chrollo hadn’t realized they were crying.

“You get your friends and you get out of here. It sucks. No air conditioning, I’ve been wearing the same damn outfit for ten years, and it smells like a horse’s ass. You’ve got good things coming your way if you skedaddle.”

“W-we reject no one, so take nothing from us,” Chrollo said.

Alma made a face. “What?”

“We don’t fight a lot here,” Chrollo quickly wiped their eyes and sniffled to clear their nose. “Not with our own. That’s what we say here. They won’t kill you.”

“I’m not from here,” Alma said.

“What?”

“Nah, I’m from Padokea. Came here because, well, that story’ll die with me. I took something from them, so they’re coming. Now stop crying over a butt ugly old lady, it’s depressing.”

Chrollo tried. They really did. The thought of not being able to see Alma again made their eyes wet. It was okay if they died. Their life was one of millions in Meteor City. In the world. But they liked Alma. It was different when people they liked died, Chrollo decided.

Alma pat them on the back and sat down next to them. She pulled a hard load of bread out from a dirty shelf behind her, split it in half, and gave one end to Chrollo. Chrollo took it without a thank you, and chewed through it. Alma gnawed on her end with the few teeth she had left.

When night fell Chrollo got up of their own volition and left Alma’s home. Before they got too far, Alma went up to them and stuck her hand in their thick black hair. She ruffled it with one bony hand.

“Goodnight, Chrollo.”

***

It was raining.

Chrollo’s sneakers were soaked through from running through puddles. It was early in the morning, but the sun wouldn’t have made a difference with how dark the cloud coverage was. They forced themselves to run faster than they were able in order to get to Alma’s house.

They used their Zetsu liked they’d been trained. The few people they ran past who were up at this early hour hardly noticed when they flew by.

When they reached Alma’s home they saw three figures climb through the front entrance. Chrollo grit their teeth and snuck up to her house. They wanted to take them by complete surprise. Carefully they slipped through the covering of the entrance and into the murky darkness of Alma’s house. It smelled terrible so Alma was still there.

The three figures were hunched at the end of the small area, almost taking up the whole space. Chrollo quickly identified the lump rolled up against the shelving on the back wall as Alma. A burning fire boiled in their stomach. They were going to kill her in her sleep. Not even give her a chance the fight back. Alma had mentioned that nen masters could maintain their nen even while asleep, but Chrollo was a little worried that in her old age she wouldn’t be able to.

The people didn’t notice Chrollo was there until they lunged for one of the stranger’s legs and sunk their teeth into the meat of their calf. A man shouted in pain and the other two scrambled to turn around in the cramped space to see what was happening. The taste of warm blood filled Chrollo’s mouth, thick and coppery. They were finally kicked off and almost rolled out the front entrance, stopping just before the cloth flaps. Chrollo spit the blood out of the mouth and glared at the intruders.

One of the woman made a grab for Chrollo once she got her bearings but they rolled out of the way. Alma was lying on the ground at the far end of her house. The knife was next to her. She was still asleep through all the chaos and Chrollo couldn’t help but smile. She was such a crotchety old woman. Only she would sleep through her own murder.

Chrollo took advantage of their small size and the uneven ceiling, moving to Alma in the small space of her house easily. They snatched the knife with their left hand and, without hesitating, ran at the closest intruder and plunged it into their gut. It was easy. Softer than cutting into a loaf of bread.

The stranger fell to the ground with a shriek and Chrollo ducked to avoid being grabbed by another stranger. Quickly, using Ren to harden the impact, Chrollo gutted one intruder then jammed the knife up into the underside of the other’s jaw and ripped it back out. They both fell to the ground silently.

Chrollo panted, staring hard at the fallen bodies. Two women and a man. All dead and oozing blood on the ground.

The gravity of what Chrollo had done began to hit them.

The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter and Chrollo felt a feeling of dread sink deep into the pit of their stomach. They just killed someone. They just killed three people.

Alma.

Chrollo turned around to see Alma laying on her side. They had made it in time, though. She was still sleeping. It was worth it.

They rushed over to her side and turned her over, not caring that she would probably hit them for waking her up. She might be irritated that they interfered, but maybe she would hug them too. Chrollo had never gotten a hug before. They were sort of looking forward to it.

“Alma!” Chrollo said excitedly.

Chrollo rolled her onto her back. Her mouth hung open loosely. Her good eye was open and unseeing. They looked down at where they had grabbed her waist with one hand. Blood seeped through the fabric of her robe and onto the hard ground. Warmth still radiated from her body but there was no pulse. Chrollo checked her wrist, the juncture of her neck and jaw, put a shaking hand over her heart. Not a beat.

She was dead.

Chrollo gripped her robe so tightly it ripped under their fingers. The sky was dark and gray outside. The only heart that beat in the room of still warm bodies was Chrollo’s. They patted her face and stroked her hair, laying her head down in their lap. She really did look like she was sleeping. Tears ran easily down Chrollo’s face since they were already wet from the rain.

Once Alma’s body went cold Chrollo gently lifted her head out of their lap. They rubbed her good eye, rubbed it until the rheum was gone, and they could finally see her iris.

Her eyes were green.

They pulled the glass eye from its socket and pocketed it, then closed her eyes. Chrollo picked up the bloodied knife from the ground and pulled a book of matches from one of the shelves lined against the back wall. With a quick swipe the match was lit. Its orange light illuminated Chrollo’s face but barely reached the bodies on the floor of the dark room. Chrollo dropped the match on one of Alma’s murderer’s as they walked out of her house.

“Goodnight, Alma,” they said, turning to look at her one last time.

Chrollo walked away from the fire, soaked to the bone and shivering. The water washed the blood off the knife so it was shiny in their hand.

They were going to find Nobunaga and Uvo-san. Not now, but soon, they would leave Meteor City.

Chrollo remembered Meteor City. They did not remember Alma.


	3. Stick a Needle in My Eye

If you were to ask Illumi Zoldyck what his childhood was like he would say it was perfectly fine.

This would be what most people would colloquially call, “A huge load of shit.”

Unfortunately, this would be because Illumi didn’t know any better. For all he knew he had a perfectly normal, well-adjusted childhood. Perhaps better than most other people’s since he was so wealthy and his family functioned as a nuclear unit.

Again, refer back to the colloquialism.

The poison training was something that started when he was born. Kikyo’s own poison immunity was maintained through daily consumption, so when Illumi was being breastfed the poison was transferred to him through her milk. One of the first steps in a Zoldyck’s training was surviving poisoning in infancy.

When Illumi was old enough to begin his physical training the first thing he was told was,

“You live to serve the Zoldyck heir.”

Kikyo stroked his cheeks and smoothed his hair while she said this, and Illumi smiled, cheeks pink and chubby. Illumi didn’t actually understand what he was being told since he was four, but his mother was happy so he was happy.

He wasn’t nearly as happy once the training started.

Kikyo went to check on her eldest’s progress with Zeno was and was shocked to find that Illumi was crying. Zeno bounced him on his knee, shushing him. Illumi failed to block a blow to the face and like any typical four year old, he began bawling.

“Illumi!” Kikyo shrieked. She was so loud she shocked young Illumi into silence. He looked at his mother with watery eyes.

“We had an accident,” Zeno said flippantly. “Nothing to worry about.”

Illumi cowered a little. He could tell she was angry. Kikyo stared at Illumi, the red light of her visor trained on him. She knelt down in front of him and smiled. Illumi immediately calmed down a bit.

“Assassins don’t cry, Illumi dear,” Kikyo said. “Be a good assassin and don’t cry anymore, okay?”

Illumi nodded. Zeno looked at Kikyo like she grew a second head.

“Kikyo, he’s only--”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Zeno,” she hissed. Illumi cowed again, but Kikyo quickly kissed him on the forehead.

“Who does Kaa-san love?”

Illumi smiled and clapped. “Illumi!”

“And who does Illumi love?”

“Kaa-san!”

Kikyo pinched Illumi’s fat pink cheek and stood up.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again, Zeno.”

Zeno grunted and Kikyo glared at him for a moment before leaving the room.

Illumi sucked on his index finger. He loved his mother.

***

The blue training room was spacious, with high ceilings and thick navy mats covering the floor. Weights, weapons, and all sorts of state of the art exercise equipment lined the walls. It was one of many training rooms in the Zoldyck mansion, but it was the one Illumi trained in the most often.

When Illumi was training with Silva, Kikyo liked to watch the two of them spar. Illumi always tried his best when his mother was watching. He always felt good when she told him he was doing well. She smiled and clapped whenever he got his form right or landed a hit on Silva. Things quickly went downhill when Illumi made the slightest misstep.

“Illumi!” Kikyo screeched.

Her tone made him freeze up and consequently take a hit from SIlva. He flew back a few feet, rolling on the mat in the training room. Sharp pain prickled in his shoulder and before he could even register what happened he started to cry. A perfectly reasonable response from a five year old. Not so much from a Zoldyck.

Illumi yelped when he felt his mother’s claw like hand grab him by the upper arm. The red light of her visor illuminated his flushed pink face.

“What did Kaa-san say about crying, Illumi?” she asked this calmly, as if giving the wrong answer would be tolerated.

Illumi sniffled. His shoulder burned and all he wanted was for the pain to stop. He knew assassins weren’t supposed to cry, but it just hurt so much.

Kikyo’s mouth set into a hard line and her grip tightened. Her polished nails pricked Illumi’s skin and he flinched.

“Anata, Illumi is done here for today,” Kikyo said.

Relief washed over Illumi. He didn’t want to train anymore.

“He needs to train for at least fifteen hours a day,” Silva said.

“I’m changing the today’s schedule. We obviously need to work on pain training.”

Illumi stopped crying only because of the jolt of panic that surged through him at the words “pain training.”

He looked up at Kikyo with wet eyes.

“Kaa-san?” he whimpered.

“Come with me, darling,” she said with a smile, voice sweet as syrup.

Silva looked a bit wary but Kikyo already pulled Illumi out of the room. She held Illumi’s hand tightly in hers, the boy jogging a little to keep up with her quick steps.

“Don’t worry, dear Illumi, this will make you strong.”

Because it was Kikyo, Illumi felt a little calmer at those words. He trusted his mother.

Even when she chained him up in the torture chamber and mauled his back with a leather whip. Every time he screamed Kikyo told him to bite his tongue. Blood welled up in his mouth from the press of his teeth in his flesh.

“I’m doing this for your own good!” Kikyo said through almost hysterical tears.

Illumi believed her.

***

Illumi wasn’t afraid of many things. Part of his assassin training dealt with eliminating his fear response so he would be calm in the face of danger.

His one punishment, however, was directly tied into him feeling intense, debilitating fear.

The dark room was built special, just for Illumi.

He wasn’t sure how big it was because even with the door opened it seemed like there was an all encompassing void of darkness inside. It could’ve been the size of a ballroom or a broom closet, but what mattered is that is was dark.

Whenever Illumi cried he would be sent there.

If he failed a mission he would go there. If he wasn’t a proper big brother to Milluki he would go there. If he cried during pain training, if he talked back, if he stayed up past his bedtime, if he messed up a job, if he didn’t want to kill someone. He would be sent to the dark room.

This time Illumi got distracted while he was watching Milluki.

Illumi was eight and Milluki was toddling around on the manor grounds. He looked away for a second and by the time he heard Milluki crying , Kikyo was upon him. He didn’t even have time to say he was sorry.

The aura that radiated off his mother’s body was so severe, so all encompassing and petrifying, that Illumi didn’t even hear what she was saying despite the fact that she was screaming at the top of her lungs. A butler quickly scooped up Milluki who stopped crying once presented with a lollipop, but Illumi was dragged into the Zoldyck mansion by the wrist. He was frozen while he was tugged to the dark room. He didn’t want to go in there. Nothing his mother could say to him would ever be worse than being in there.

“-for your own good!” Was the one thing Illumi caught before Kikyo opened the door to the dark room and pushed him inside. The door closing was like an eclipse. Illumi savored the last sliver of golden light shining from the crack in the door like he was a man in the desert drinking the last drop of water.

Then it was dark.

Illumi didn’t know how big the dark room was. Even with the door opened all the way you could only see a rectangle of black. Light was phobic of the room and wouldn’t shine inside. He didn’t understand what made the room so dark, but it wasn’t natural. It was completely sound proof as well, but it wasn’t silent.

At first the only things Illumi would hear were his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing. Those were tolerable at first. He tried really hard to keep his head about him while he was in there, but he was only eight.

He was only eight.

The paranoia set in within the first hour or so. The silence was suffocating and despite the fact Illumi could only hear himself, he would eventually wonder if there was something else in the room with him. 

I can’t hear anything moving, he thought. If there were something in here, I would hear it.

Grandfather would tell him stories sometimes. Tales of evil creatures being smote by epic heros, evil spirits lurking in the shadows ready to trick travellers and innocents, manifestations of mal intent forming in the corners of homes. 

Illumi wondered if the dark room had any corners.

He imagined himself as a hero, striking down anything in his path that tried to hurt him or his family. He would protect his father from witches and his grandfather from the Jiangshi. His mother from the bugs she hated so much and Milluki from the monster he swore was living under his bed.

But who would protect him?

The creeping fear that something was watching him from the corner of the room started to overtake him and he closed his eyes even though it didn’t make a difference. His long hair was his shield. When it fell over his shoulders and covered his face, the tiniest barrier between him and the darkness, he felt a little safer.

Just a little.

After the first day the room stopped being quiet.

The sound of his heart was like a gong, his breathing was like the gusts of a hurricane. Even his blinking was like a door slamming shut, making him jump. Keeping them closed didn’t do anything because then the sound of his eyes rubbing against his lids was like nails on a chalkboard. The only way the noise would stop was if he stopped blinking.

He got pretty good at it after a while.

After the third day Illumi would be on the verge of silent hysteria. He couldn’t hear if there was something else in the room watching him, waiting for him to fall asleep and kill him, over the sound of his own breathing, so he slowed his breath until it seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all. He did the same with his heartbeat, willing it to slow so he could hear what was going on around him. Illumi’s eyes were wide open and searching for even the slightest bit of movement in the dark room.

Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there.

The dark room was empty. A room with simple flat marble flooring and black painted walls. The only “thing” in there was Illumi.

Illumi didn’t know that.

He didn’t know he was alone.

He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. Eyes wide open, hardly breathing, heart hardly beating. If he moved he’d be able to hear his joints rubbing together so he remained as still as humanly possible. A china doll in a glass cabinet collecting dust until someone came to clean it off.

He was certain something was in the room, watching him.

Nothing was there.

On the sixth day the door opened, mostly because Zeno complained that Kikyo couldn’t lock her firstborn in a room for a week straight. 

“Illumi, darling, have you learned your lesson?” Kikyo asked.

Illumi stared ahead. The light from the door didn’t flood into the room, fearful of stepping over the threshold. His mother stood in the doorway, mouth turned down in a heartbroken frown.

“Yes, Kaa-san.”

Kikyo burst into tears and ran inside to hug her son. She carried him out of the dark room, cradled to her chest and whispering sweet nothings to him. Illumi snuggled into her, the smell of her perfume reassuring. He loved her for getting him out of there.

***

It was oddly cool on July seventh. Illumi was expected to go on with his training for the day, but SIlva was much more lenient with him than Kikyo. Funnily enough the only time Kikyo wasn’t in absolute hysterics was when she was in labor. The butlers helped her along, but based on what Illumi heard around the house she was able to handle herself very well. Illumi had very good ears.

Around four in the afternoon Zeno found Illumi and took him by the hand.

“You’re a big brother again, Illu,” Zeno said. He lead him down the hall and up the stairs to where Kikyo was resting. “Another boy.”

“Really? What’s his name?” Illumi asked excitedly.

“Your mother wants to tell you herself,” Zeno said.

Illumi burned with excitement. He’d been waiting patiently for weeks for his new sibling to be born. He was probably even more excited than he was for Milluki’s birth. His mom had a “Good feeling about this one.” Illumi’s mother was so smart, he knew she’d be right.

“I can’t wait to see him,” Illumi said, cheeks flushed with happiness. “I can’t believe I have another brother!”

“At the rate they’re going you’ll have another soon enough,” Zeno said.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Zeno lead Illumi up to the room Kikyo was in. When they got there Silva was already present, sitting next to his wife and looking at her more tenderly than he looked at most things. Kikyo looked over to see her son and smiled sweetly, the red dot of her visor bright. Her long black hair was splayed over the sheets instead of done up like usual. It was like Illumi’s hair, sleek and shiny.

“Illumi dear, come meet Killua.”

Killua. Killua was Illumi’s new brother. 

Illumi quickly went over to the side of the bed and stood on his tiptoes to get a better look at Killua. He was pale, so pale, with a little tuft of white hair and chubby hands balled up into little fists. He was already ready for fighting. Illumi swelled with pride for his baby brother.

“This is the new heir, Illumi darling,” Kikyo said. “It’s your job to serve him.”

Illumi nodded reverently, looking at his baby brother. He was so beautiful. He stuck a finger out to look at his small, baby hands. Killua opened his palm and wrapped his hand around Illumi’s finger. His grip was tight and strong. He’d be a perfect assassin. Illumi stared at Killua in wonder. This was what he’d been training for. 

“Hi, Killua,” Illumi said softly. “I’m your Onii-chan. I love you and I’ll protect you.”

The baby burbled and gripped Illumi’s finger tighter on reflex. Illumi gasped in surprise and couldn’t help but smile. Killua already loved him.

He didn’t notice that Milluki had also come into the room, he was so entranced by Killua’s soft little fingers wrapped around his own.

“Do you want to hold him?” Kikyo asked. Silva looked opposed to the idea but Kikyo wasn’t having it.

Illumi nodded enthusiastically. Kikyo held the baby out to him and Illumi very carefully took Killua into his arms. Killia blearily opened his eyes and they were a bright blue, just like his dad’s. Milluki looked on, pouting a little bit that Illumi got to hold the baby.

“I want to hold him,” Milluki said, tugging at Illumi’s arm.

Illumi held Killua closer to him. Killua looked at Illumi with sleepy eyes.

“No, Kaa-san said I could hold him.”

Milluki made another grab for Killua but when Illumi didn’t relent in holding him, Milluki began tearing up. In a few seconds Milluki was bawling. The noise startled newborn Killua and his little face scrunched up, the tears coming seconds after.

“Darlings, calm do-” Kikyo started.

But the stress of having both of his brother’s suddenly crying made Illumi tear up. By now he learned not to cry, but he looked at his mother, sniffling with big watery eyes. Silva sighed and looked at his wife, who rubbed her temples at the sound of all her children bawling. 

***

Illumi had been old enough to go on assassinations alone for a long time, but he knew Kikyo was always following him. He could never see her, but she would appear sometimes. She always chided him if he flinched. An assassin couldn’t be startled.

This mission was a simple one. A politician would be exiting his hotel at 21:30 and entering a chartered limousine to return to his home. Illumi had to kill him discreetly while he was still in his hotel room, before the limo even reached the building.

Nen was something Illumi had been studying for a long time and just recently he’d been working with needles. Kikyo was so pleased when he showed her the Hatsu he was working on. He was a manipulator like her, but while his mother used her eyes and her touch, Illumi used needles. He could change his body and his face. Kikyo was absolutely delighted. 

That was how Illumi got into the hotel the politician was staying at. He shifted his features to that of one of the hotel workers. He made quick work of them by throwing a pin into the base of their head, right into the medulla, killing them instantly. He put the body down the garbage chute and commandeered their uniform.

The politician had ordered room service and Illumi quickly volunteered to be the one to go, the other employees unaware that their coworker was actually dead in a dumpster. Illumi, under the guise of a tall blond with bright blue eyes just like Killua’s, went up to the third floor and knocked on room three-oh-two. The door opened and a balding portly man in a gray tweed suit appeared. His brow furrowed when he noticed there wasn’t a cart with food waiting.

Before he could even ask where his dinner was, there was a needle between his eyes.

Illumi really liked his needles. There wasn’t much blood and the people he killed rarely screamed. He hated when people screamed. It reminded him of Kikyo’s hysterics. Not to say he didn’t love his mother very much. He did, with all his heart. But there was something about screaming that made a deep seated panic that assassins shouldn’t have settle deep in his chest.

The politician stood still, unblinking, mouth dropped open slightly. He seemed more stunned than dead. Illumi stepped back and let the door shut, the politician still standing upright.

He turned around and took the elevator down to the ground floor. He pulled the needles out of his neck on the ride down. The clothes were a little big on him now, but nothing rolling the sleeves up wouldn’t fix. He left the hotel with no suspicion. No one gave him a second glance. He was halfway down the street when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling Illumi.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he felt his mind glaze over a little bit. Kikyo’s nen was overwhelming.

“Thank you, Kaa-san,” Illumi said.

He hadn’t sensed her at all. Illumi stamped out the undercurrent of fear with love. He loved his mother. He loved her so much.

She didn’t say how or when she got there, but she walked Illumi down the street, hand on his shoulder. He felt like he was in a trance as they moved, but that was just something that happened when she touched him. 

He was in such a fog that he barely noticed when a ball rolled in front of them, lightly bouncing off his shoes. He stared at it for a moment then bent down to pick it up. It was bright red with a star on it.

“Hey! Can you pass us that?”

Illumi looked up and saw some kids around his age, two boys and a girl. He blinked slowly. It took him some time to register what they said to him. 

“...The ball?” he said, slowly working through the mental fog.

The girl noded eagerly and mimed throwing it. Her smile was cheerful.

Her smile reminded him of Killua’s. He was about to toss the ball back, happy to help them out and be a part of something. Nails dug into his shoulder. His lungs froze up in terror. He couldn’t breath.

“Illumi, that’s dirty. Put it down.”

He wasn’t sure what was more terrifying. The feeling of her claws in his shoulder or the feeling of them being pulled out. The ball was rough in his hands and straining under his grip. The kids looked at him, confused at why he didn’t throw the ball back. 

“Illumi!” Kikyo said, sharper this time.

The ball fell to the ground, his hands pulling away from it almost robotically. He wanted to tell the other kids to run away, don’t look at his mother, but his jaw was glued shut.

Kikyo raised the visor off her face. The kid’s eyes went dull and their faces expressionless. Their arms hung limply at their sides. They were focused on Kikyo. Illumi looked away.

“Be good children and run along,” Kikyo said. “Go cross the street so we can pass.”

Cars zipped by on the street next to them. The three children looked over at the road, eyes still dull and lifeless, then quietly shuffled towards it. Kikyo pulled her visor down and put her hand back on Illumi’s shoulder. Illumi wanted to run and pull the kids away from the street, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, let alone move.

“Assassins don’t need friends, Illumi dear. You have your family. You have Killua.”

Illumi nodded stiffly. Kikyo began walking and Illumi kept up with her. The fog settled in his head again. Dimly, the sounds of screaming and metal clashing registered in his mind, but assassins didn’t cry. 

He looked ahead, unblinking.

***

Illumi’s favorite time was when he got to watch Killua.

It was his responsibility to serve the Zoldyck heir and that meant watching him whenever he was free from training. Killua was a very active four year old. He always wanted to play or be lifted up or explore. Sometimes when he woke up Killua would be at the foot of his bed.

“Illu-nii, let’s play!” he’d say.

It broke Illumi’s heart to tell him he couldn’t do play with him right away. Killua would pout and look at the floor, shuffling his feet. Finishing training was worth it for Killua’s smile when Illumi said he could play with him. It was the light at the end of the dark room. Knowing that Killua loved him was enough to get him through the day.

Killua would begin training soon. Illumi was worried, but it was for the best. He was the heir so he would be more capable than Illumi ever was. He was proud of him for that. His little brother was really the perfect child.

Kikyo stressed that it was his responsibility to make sure Killua was safe and cared for while he wasn't training. Not a hair out of place.

“Watch him like I watch you,” she said.

This meant even when he was training and Killua was out of his sight. Illumi asked his grandpa to help him with his En so he would be able to sense where Killua was even when he was away. His mother would test him sometimes, asking where Killua was on their huge property when he was busy training. His En obviously couldn’t span the entire mountain, so sometimes he couldn’t answer and was sent to the dark room. When he could answer, Kikyo would give him a kiss on the cheek and it made his heart feel light. His family loved him so much.

The first thing Illumi did after another week in the dark room was go to see Killua. Despite being haggard and twitchy, Killua’s little chubby face lit up at the sight of his older brother and he ran in for a hug. 

“Where do you go for so long, Illu-nii? I miss you,” Killua said.

Illumi ruffled Killua’s fluffy white hair.

“It’s training, that’s all, Killu.”

“Can’t you do something else?”

Illumi wished he could. He really did. But he deserved the dark room. It was his own fault for winding up in there.

“It’s for my own good,” he said.

“Will I have to do that?” Killua asked.

A cold feeling settled in Illumi’s stomach at the idea of Killua sitting in the dark room, knees drawn up to his chest, worried about whatever creature lurked in the high corners of the ceiling. He hugged his little brother to him a little tighter.

“No. That’s just for me,” Illumi whispered.

“What? I can’t hear you, Illu-nii.”

“You won’t,” Illumi said. “Onii-chan will protect you.”

Killua nuzzled his face into Illumi’s chest, but recoiled quickly. Illumi wondered what was wrong, but Killua pinched his nose and stuck his tongue out.

“You stink!”

Illumi laughed a little.

“Let’s take a bath together, Killu.”

Killua brightened and smiled so bright, Illumi thought he might be blinded from it. Killua was his light, his precious little brother. 

In his excitement, Killua began pulling his shirt over his head. Illumi went to stop him, but Killua squealed in delight, thinking being chased was a game. Even if Illumi had to chase his naked little brother around the house and pick up his clothes after, he was still proud to be Killua’s brother.

***

The worst sound in the world, Illumi thought, was Killua crying. Not because he couldn’t stand the sound of it, but because it meant Killua was upset. He hated for Killua to be upset.

The other reason was that his mother would come out of the woodwork at the sound, and she was a terror whenever Killua’s well being was at risk. Killua tripped and fell once while Illumi was watching him. Killua barely got his first cry out before Kikyo was there. The next thing Illumi knew he was flung into the dark room. He didn’t get to come out for three weeks.

Killua wanted to play outside and Illumi led him out, holding his hand all the way through. Illumi wasn’t really one to play with toy trucks, but Killua was really enthusiastic about it and that’s all that mattered. Since Killua had begun strength training he was still getting used to controlling himself and accidently tossed his truck too far. Of course Illumi went to go get it, but just as he bent down, fingers already on the cold plastic, he heard a thud.

His blood ran cold before he even registered the cry coming out of Killua’s mouth. When he turned around Killua was on the ground, teary eyed and holding his knee. A little bit of blood ran down his pale skin.

This time he felt Kikyo standing behind him before she said anything.

“Illumi,” she hissed out, putting her hand on his shoulder.

The fog rolled over his brain again. He hoped he would get out of the dark room before his birthday.

His mother didn’t say anything more. She released her iron grip on his shoulder and walked over to Killua, scooping him up, shushing him and kissing his cheeks.

“Killu,” she cooed. “Don’t cry. Mama is here.”

She turned around and walked back to the mansion, not looking back at Illumi. Illumi stood there, paralyzed, as she carried his Killua back inside, and left him behind.

The next day he received an assassination job.

For some reason the specifics were left out. The only instructions Illumi received were to go to a specific location and kill the child that lived there. Nothing about the parents was mentioned. Illumi didn’t even know if the family held some sort of important position, or who hired him for the job. Nevertheless it was his job as a Zoldyck to assassinate, so he went out to do it.

He had to wait until nightfall, when the family was asleep. They lived in a quaint house in the country, the only one for a couple of miles. Green grass rolled over hills and the air smelled of honeysuckle. Illumi couldn’t imagine living in such a small place, but the atmosphere was so calming he didn’t mind sitting around and waiting for the sun to set. He kind of wanted to braid some of the wild flowers he saw into his hair, but he held himself back. He prefered having his long curtain of hair around his shoulders anyway. A security blanket.

Once the moon was high in the air and the sound of crickets made his ears ring, Illumi creeped toward the house. There wasn’t much in terms of security. All he had to do was look through the windows to see which room belonged to his target, then flip a latch and climb inside.

The room was very small, at least smaller than any room in his own house, but there was a little bed tucked in the far corner of the room. A hoard of stuffed animals sat in front of it. The moonlight shining into the room through the open window gave everything a blueish tint. A relaxing night, Illumi thought.

He pulled a needle from the front of his shirt and approached the bed. Just before he plunged it into the back of the child’s neck, they groaned and shifted, turning over in their sleep. Illumi froze.

The little boy was younger than him with soft blond, almost white curls, and pink chubby cheeks. His nose, the shape of his eyes, even the set of his mouth reminded him of Killua.

Illumi raised his hand, readying the needle, but when he tried to force his arm down he found he couldn’t move. His hand shook, knuckles white from the tightness of the grip around the needle. How many times had Illumi seen Killua look just like this? Sleeping peacefully in his own bed. Just this morning Illumi went into his youngest brother’s room to check on him, and Killua was breathing softly in bed just like this, dreaming of chocolates and toys.

He forced his hand. It refused to move. 

It was like he was a puppet but the strings meant to guide him were tangled up. Illumi reached up with his other hand and grabbed his wrist, trying to force the needle down between the sleeping boy’s eyes. He began to sweat from the strain of trying to move.

Finally he dropped his arm, gasping for breath he didn’t know he was holding. He couldn’t do it. The sleeping boy sighed in his sleep, dreaming peacefully.

Illumi wasn’t sure what he would do. Maybe, just maybe, he could get away with lying to his mother. He could wake the boy up, tell him to flee and run away. Go to a different country and change his name so no one would ever find out. He reached out to shake the boy’s shoulder and wake him.

“Illumi.”

This time his hand was frozen by fear. The light of the moon was blocked out by his mother’s presence. Illumi looked at his mother, the red light of her visor sending a small beam of light over his chest, right over his heart.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s, I’m, I was,” his mouth was dry, tongue almost useless. “Kaa-san I-”

She took a step forward.

“Illumi,” she asked again, voice soft and gentle like a falling feather. “What are you doing?”

“Waking him up,” Illumi said, no control over his own mouth.

Kikyo extended her arm, hand open and palm up, like she wanted to take his hand.

“Illumi,” she said. “Give me the needle.”

Illumi’s hand twitched but he stopped himself, grabbing his arm and forcing it down. He shook his head back and forth, hair swishing around his shoulders. The boy slept on, undisturbed.

“Kaa-san, I can’t, I can’t, I-”

“Illumi. Give me the needle.”

He felt his eyes start to burn, but years of practice kept any tears from forming. He shook his head harder. Illumi could feel the bones of his wrist bending as he struggled to keep the hand with the needle down.

The light from the window surrounded Kikyo like a halo. She looked like an angel. What kind, Illumi wasn’t sure.

“Illumi,” her voice was soft, so soft. “The needle.”

His arm snapped up and out of his grip. The needle offered to her like food on a platter. She took the needle from his hand, turning it gently between her long white fingers. 

“No, please,” Illumi pleaded, paralyzed with fear. “Kaa-san, please don’t.”

She walked over to the bed and peered down at the sleeping boy. She smoothed his bangs down with the same gentleness she used on her own children. The contact made the boy fuss and he opened his eyes a little bit, waking up from the contact.

“This is what will happen to Killua if you don’t protect him the way you should,” Kikyo said.

She drove the needle between the boy’s eyes. Illumi threw up on the carpet.

“You’re still in trouble, dear Illumi,” Kikyo said. “You didn’t protect Killua and you didn’t finish your assassination. You’re better than this.”

She bent down and tucked his hair behind his ears as he trembled. Illumi stayed on his hands and knees, dry heaving. For a second the boy really did look like Killua.

“I’m doing this because I love you, Illumi,” she said.

Illumi knew that. He was lucky he had such a good mother.

***

Illumi was doing very well with his needles. He’d almost mastered being able to manipulate his own features with them. Now he could also change the appearance of others, although they couldn’t move when he did. They were more like dolls than people when that happened, he thought.

In fact he did so well with his needles that one day after he was done training his mother knelt down and spread her arms wide.

“Come give me a hug, Illumi dear!” she chirped.

He loved his mother, so he rushed over and wrapped his arms around her. Affection like this was mostly reserved for Killua these days. 

“My precious son,” she said, and put her bare hands on his face.

A fog rolled into Illumi’s mind, dazing him. He could still smell his mother’s perfume. Sweet and comforting.

“Come with me,” Kikyo said. 

She sounded so far away. It was hard to see. Hard to move without help. Illumi felt his mother take his hand, her skin warm and soft against his palm.

He didn’t quite remember what happened for the next few hours. He was sure his mother mentioned something about his needles. Maybe putting some pins in a doll? All he knew was that one minute his mother was leading him down the hall, and then two hours later he was in his room with no recollection of what happened.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on it. By the time he realized two hours had passed and he barely remembered them, there was a knock at his door.

“Illu-nii? Can you play with me?”

It was Killua. Illumi immediately felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. His brother was a like a ray of sunshine.

“Yes,” Illumi said.

Killua flashed that heart melting smiled and Illumi let himself be pulled outside. It was a warm day. Spring thawed everything out and some of the trees on the mountain were flowering and growing fruit. Killua desperately wanted to pull an apple down from the tree, but Illumi refused to let him climb.

“You’ll get hurt,” Illumi said.

Killua pouted and puffed his cheeks out. He looked like a little puffy duckling.

“I won’t! I’ve been training Illu-nii!”

Illumi shook his head again and pulled out a needle.

“I can knock some down for you. Do you want to see a trick, Killu?”

Killua’s eyes brightened and he nodded, eager to see what Illumi could do. Illumi puffed up a little at the obvious praise from Killua.

Illumi looked around for a tree with the best looking apples. If Killua was going to have anything it would have to be the best. After a few minutes of searching with Killua tagging along behind him, Illumi found a tree with nice round, red apples. Illumi looked up at the fruit carefully, searching for the perfect one for his little brother. When one caught his eye he readied his needle and shot it at the stem. The apple snapped off the branch and Illumi quickly ran to catch it.

“Here, Killu.”

He turned around, offering Killua the apple, but he wasn’t there. Illumi looked back and forth and a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t hear Killua crying, so he wasn’t hurt, but where was he?

“Killu?” Illumi called. “Killua? Where are you?”

He didn’t get a response. He shoved the apple in his pocket and looked around frantically. Where did he go? He was supposed to protect Killua. He was supposed to serve the Zoldyck heir.

“Killua?” Illumi called.

He turned over rocks, searched bushes, even dug a hole and looked in that for some reason that seemed rational in the moment. Just as he was about to get hysterical he spotted a tuft of white high up in a tree. Illumi sighed, just a smidge relieved. Killua must’ve gotten impatient and tried to get an apple himself. He’d have to scold him for it, but he wasn’t really that mad. Killua just needed to learn how to wait. It was an essential part of being an assassin after all.

Illumi began walking over to the tree, pulling the apple out of his pocket to give to Killua.

Just as Illumi opened his mouth to call out to his brother, Killua fell. For a split second Illumi froze in place, registering the white fluff of Killua’s hair falling from the highest branch on the tree. The apple was dropped to the ground and Illumi sprinted across the grass, arms out to catch his brother.

Illumi missed him by a two and a half seconds. He counted.

The thud and the sound of cracking bones echoed in Illumi’s ears.

Killua’s body lay broken and wide eyed on the ground. His limbs were splayed out at angles they should never be at. His neck bulged at the side, a bone moved in a way it shouldn’t have. He wasn’t breathing.

“K-Killu…?”

Illumi very slowly knelt down next to his brother, his little brother, and pressed two fingers to the side of his neck that wasn’t bent at an odd angle. No pulse.

Illumi bit through his bottom lip and blood ran down his chin. He moved his shaking hands over to Killua’s chest, knowing he wouldn’t feel anything, but hoped for a heartbeat anyway. Nothing was there. Killua’s chest was still.

“Killua,” his voice came out warped, high pitched and strangled. He sounded more like a deflating balloon than anything else. “K-Killua?”

His brother didn’t move, just stared up at the sky, eyes wide, dead, unblinking.

Illumi wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come, not even if he tried.

Very gently, Illumi picked up his brother’s corpse and held it to his chest. The body was still warm. It was a forgery of a hug, especially since Killua’s limbs were all bent in the wrong ways. 

“Illumi.”

He looked up. Kikyo stood over him, the sun reflecting off the glass of her visor. Illumi should’ve felt fear.

Illumi felt nothing.

His mother reached down for Killua’s bent neck and pulled out a pin. A pin. One of Illumi’s needles, with the yellow ball at the end.

Killua’s body shifted in his arms. The bones moved, the hair went from white to black, the skin darkened a little bit. Illumi released his hold on Killua.

That wasn’t KIllua.

He dropped the body to the ground. It was the broken body of another child. A total stranger. He looked up at his mother. She twirled the pin between her fingers.

“This is what will happen if you don’t watch Killua the way you should,” she said. “This is your punishment.”

Illumi looked back down at the body, the corpse of a stranger, then back up at his mother.

“I…” Illumi said.

He looked down at his hands. They weren’t shaking. Kikyo peered down at him.

“Speak up, Illumi darling.”

He looked up at his mother’s face.

“...I hate you.”

He sounded almost surprised when he said it. A revelation. His eyes widened when he realized what he said. Kikyo’s face shifted from shock, to anger, to distress in seconds. She didn’t have a chance to open her mouth.

“I hate you,” he said, louder. His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed. A pulse of nen radiated from his body. Birds flew out of the trees, frightened by the wave of bloodlust. “I hate you!”

His nails lengthened into sharp claws and he tore chunks out of the earth. When he stood to his feet his hair fanned out around him. His blood boiled, his skin itched he wanted to claw it off, he hated his mother he hated her he hated her.

“I hate you!” he shrieked. “I hate you!”

Kikyo grabbed his arm, her own nails digging into his skin, blood dripping down his skin.

“Don’t talk to your mother that way!” she hissed through grit teeth.

“You’re not my mother! Mothers love their children!” Illumi spat.

The slap to his face clouded his mind with that terrifying, hazy fog. Though his rage the fog cleared a little bit.

“Don’t you ever say that again, Illumi!” Kikyo screeched.

She dragged him by the arm, back to the house. Illumi knew he was going into the dark room. For once he fought against her, screaming and writhing in his Kikyo’s grip. Somehow he managed to tear his arm out of her grasp.

“Illu-nii?”

Illumi turned around. Killua, his baby brother, was staring at him eyes wide, shirt upturned in his hands and full of apples. He felt his rage fade.

“K-Killu?”

Kikyo grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back. Illumi screamed as pain erupted behind his eyes, blinding him. Killua looked on, shaking. Illumi saw Gotoh scoop him up before the doors of the house closed on him.

Kikyo lifted him by the hair and carried him up the stairs, Illumi screaming the whole way up. She opened the door of her own room and threw him down to the floor. Before he could get up she grabbed his face, her skin against his and snarled,

“Don’t. Move.”

Illumi went limp on the ground. Kikyo got up and he laid there, wanting to scream, but not able to move an inch of his body.

The sound of buzzing filled the air.

At first he didn’t know what it was. It couldn’t be a bee, too loud for a fly. When the electric sound neared his ear he realized. The metal was cold against the skin of his scalp, but not as cold as the air hitting where his hair used to be.

He couldn’t so much as blink as Kikyo shaved off his long, silky hair, the hair that was just like hers, because she told him not to move.

Even after her manipulation wore off, Illumi stayed limp against the carpet. He offered no resistance when she picked him up by the wrist and took him to the dark room. She tossed him inside and he laid there on the floor, looking up at her with cold, lifeless eyes.

“I’m doing this,” she said, tears running down her cheeks, “because I love you, Illumi.”

She closed the door.

There was nothing to protect Illumi from the darkness.


End file.
